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Caernarvon Castle. 



The 



Thrilling 



Experience 



OF 



R. G.WILLIAMS 

REFORMED DRUNKARD AND 
GAMBLER 

NOW AN EVANGELIST 



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Thrilling Experience 



OF THE 



WELSH EVANGELIST 

R. G. Williams, 

REFORMED 

JDHUNKAHD 

AND 



GAMBJUBH 



OR 



FORTY-EIGHT YEARS IN DARKNESS AND SIN 

^''^ 1 APR131B96 

ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGhTr^^^^^j^ _ ^tf 
AND LOVE OF CHRIST JESUS. 



The Library 

Oh Congress 

Washington 



3V31' ?5' 



Copyright By 
MARKS & WILLIAMS. 

Chicago, 111., 1896. 



PUBLISHERS^ NOTICE. 



A LIGHTHOUSE is built on the rocks amid the waves where there 
is danger, to warn the mariner on the sea. It throws its light out 
into the darkness, that all who see it may turn the helm of their bark, 
thereby shun the danger and save themselves from death. 

A kind word, a friendly shake of the hand, a benevolent act, a 
sermon, a prayer, a book, the life experience of one who has passed 
through troubled waters, boisterous seas and dangers of all kinds, are 
lighthouses by the way, on the path of life, that may be seen by 
those in danger and the evil shunned. 

The object in publishing this book, the sketch of the life of one 
who has passed through the many experiences given in it, is that it may 
be a lighthouse truly to all who have tasted of the wine " when it 
was red " and led a drunkard's life, to all who spend their substance 
in riotous living in the saloons, at the gaming table, in the theater, or 
in any of the vices so common and so well known to-day, which 
tempt young men to drink and lead lives of sin and drag them down 
to ruin. We have known the Rev. R. G. Williams for many years, 
and assure the reader that these remarkable experiences of his life 
are not exaggerated nor overdrawn. He has been faithful to his trust, 
doing what good he can to " rescue the perishing" and all who have 
been unfortunate and wish to reform. 

He is now working in the missions and churches, holding up the 
banner of the cross wherever he goes. It is to be hoped that this 
book may be the means, in the hand of God, of turning the hearts of 
many toward Him who only can save, and that all who are now chained 
by the fetters of strong drink may read and be warned before it is 
too late. 

A. J. Marks, 
Rochester Flats, 636 46th Place, near Grand Boulvd. 

Chicago, March 16, 1896. 



PREFACE. 




To THE Public 

^HIS book of my life's experience is dedicated 
to a world lost in sin. It comes straight 
from the earnest heart of one who has 
known two decided conditions of life, 
that of a soul lOSt and a soul Sa\?eJ)» I launch 
it forth with faith and the prayer that it may carry 
conviction to the hearts of all who may read it, and 
bring a sudden right about face from darkness into the 
marvelous light of God's love. This book has been given 
for one purpose only, that it may do great good, and 
be a warning signal to the prodigal in sin. It is the 
history of a life, honest and truthful, without any ex- 
aggeration, paint or varnish. 

With love and charity to all, and God's blessing on 
every one who reads these pages. 
From the author, 

R. G. WILLIAMS, 

The reformed Drunkard and Gambler, now one 
of the Evangelists of Christ Jesus. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 



Chapter I. 


Chapter II. 


Chapter III. 


Chapter IV. 


Chapter V. 


Chapter VI. 


Chapter VII. 


Chapter VIII. 


Chapter IX. 


Chapter X. 


Chapter XL 


Chapter XII. 


Chapter XIII. 


Chapter XIV. 


Chapter XV. 


Chapter XVI. 


Chapter XVII. 


Chapter XVIII. 


Chapter XIX. 


Chapter XX. 


Chapter XXI. 


Chapter XXII. 


Chapter XXIII 


Chapter XXIV. 



■ ■■ ww » mmm ^w ww w * 

PAGE. 

Birthplace 9 

Leaving Wales 21 

A Voyage on the Ocean 24 

A Wanderer from Home 28 

Leaving for Chicago 31 

Life on the Stage 35 

Back to Hotel Life 39 

A Visit Home 46 

Sad News 55 

Gambling Life 58 

Joins the Y. M. C. A 61 

A Visit to My Mother's Grave 65 

Providential Deliverances 69 

Return to the East 75 

A Sad Journey 81 

A Business Enterprise 85 

Leave Wisconsin 90 

Eleven Years in the Light 95 

Mission Work in New York 101 

Leaving for California 105 

Work in San Francisco 109 

On the Trail at Last 114 

Found at Last 118 

Leavino: California 123 



CHAPTER L 

BIRTHPLACE. 

I was born in the year 1831 in Wales, in the town of 
Caernarvon (which signifies singing on the river). 

Family records show our genealogy to extend back to 
the Druids and ancient Britons, from Owain Glyndurdu, 
who was in direct descent from the first king of Wales, 
the coat of arms still remaining in our family. 

My father's family descended from Morris Williams, 
who lived in the town of Pwlheli, situated twenty-two 
miles from Caernarvon. They were originally wild and 
untutored, great trainers of horses and noted for their 
choice blooded stock of sheep and cattle, of which por- 
tions of Wales are still famous. They were very ungodly 
men, and I inherited the same disposition and a similar 
nature. 

My greatest pleasure when a little boy was to be with 
horses, and the first event of importance to me occurred 
when I was eleven years old, for being of the right weight 
according to the rules, I was selected to ride the fastest 
running mare for the Queen's Cup, in the town of Bar- 
mouth, North Wales, and we were fortunate enough to 
win. From this dated my fondness for racing. 

In the year 1843, ^ year later, I was importuned to ride 
in a hurdle race, but my father would not give his con- 
sent, so I ran away from home and went to Caernarvon 
and enlisted on a man-of-war which was soon to sail to 

9 



10 BIRTHPLACE. 

Canada. I then returned home to tell my mother, and 
asked her not to inform my father until after my depart- 
ure, for I dare not reveal to him my disobedient inten- 
tions for fear of "a severe punishment. 

It almost broke the heart of my dear mother, and she 
promised if I would give up my wild scheme that soon 
as it were possible they would sell the farm and start 
for America. This just suited me, so I quickly assented 
and did not return to the ship again, much to the relief 
of my mother. My boyish ambition was to see the world, 
to travel by sea and land. 

My mother was a Christian from her girlhood, as were 
all her ancestors. She was of the ancient family of John 
Jones, and her birthplace a beautiful homestead farm, 
called Brigele, which signifies '' the light hill." From the 
porch of her home could be seen in the distance the beau- 
tiful blue waters of the Irish channel, while lying between 
Vv^ere the lovely meadows, hills and valleys, winding 
streams, so numerous in Wales, and beyond the channel, 
like Watt's '' sweet fields beyond the sw^elling flood," 
could be seen the distant hills of the Emerald Isle. 

Many ships, of all sizes, from the monster man-of-war, 
which fed my boyish patriotism for my own country, to 
the little sail boat of some lone fisherman, constantly 
sailed up and down on the bosom of the waters. The 
distant sails, the multitudinous sea gulls, seemed like 
fairy nymphs to my youthful imagination. And as the 
white-winged ships were wafted along by the breezes of 
heaven, there was fostered within me an appreciation of 
nature and nature's God which bore fruit in riper years. 

Our family consisted of eight children ; six boys and 
two girls. I was the second child, and I think the black 
sheep of them all, 

The cut on opposite page represents the farm and the 



BIRTHPLACE. 11 

little house in which I was born. I will now relate some of 
my early experiences in the history of my boyhood, and a 
few of the many peculiarities of my nature at that time. 
Horace Greeley has said in his statement concerning the 
Welsh people, that they were all evangelized, but not civil- 
ized, and I believe that the spirit of the wild Welshman 
is still in the children of the ancient Britons and Druids. 

The first thing that I recall of my boyish desire for a 
little fun was about the coronation of Queen Victoria. I 
helped to carry stones on my back with other boys, one 
of whom was my bosom companion, whose name was 
Dick Shomprichard, one of the worst of the neighbor- 
hood. We were just suited for each other, full of all 
kinds of mischief. We all worked hard to build a tower 
for the flagstaff on the top of the mountain back of our 
house, to celebrate the coronation of the Queen. Four 
months afterward we visited the place again, and pulled 
down the flagstaff and removed the stones to get the 
money that was placed there by the builders as a me- 
morial, in the foundations of the town. We found the 
money, and set out immediately for Caernarvon, and had 
a good time until all of it was gone. Before going to the 
town, we rolled the two cannon, placed there by the 
authorities, down the mountain side (in order to have a 
little fun), and they went with great speed, and were 
dashed to pieces on the rocks below. 

For this destruction of property, and taking of the 
public money, we were severely punished by our parents. 
Dick got a good whipping, and I a better one, which 
I remember to this day. The next one of my boyish 
pranks, which got me into trouble, was in destroying 
my mother's china tea set. As my father was a quarry- 
man, and labored in the mines, he always kept horns 
of blasting powder in the house. One day when my 



12 BIRTHPLACE. 

mother and sisters were away from home, my chum Dick 
came to visit me. 

We thought we would have a little fun, and set about 
devising a plan by which we could obtain it, and we suc- 
ceeded as usual. The china set, sugar bowl and cream 
pitcher were taken from their secret place, and digging 
two holes in the ground, about eight feet apart, we put 
the sugar bowl into one and the pitcher into the other. 
We then dug a trench between the two, and filled the 
bowl, pitcher, and trench with powder. 

We then piled a lot of stones on the whole, and set 
a slow match to the center of the trench, and awaited 
the result on the top of a rock to which we ran for 
safety. There was a great explosion, and the stones 
flew in all directions, together with pieces of my mother*s 
beautiful china that she valued so highly. 

We barely escaped w^ith our lives, and were terribly 
frightened. We looked around upon the debris and ruin 
we had made, and enjoyed the explosion, not thinking of 
the whipping we would be sure to get; but it came, alas ! 
too soon, for that night when we went home each got what 
he deserved — a sound thrashing. The next day I had to 
go without eating. I was usually whipped twice a day, 
and sometimes three times a day, so I became quite ac- 
customed to the rope or lash. The next difficulty I got 
into was with my father when he wished me to plant some 
potatoes. He cut and prepared half a bushel of them 
before going to his work at the quarry, and requested me 
to plant them in the garden, telling me at the same time 
(calling me gentleman, as he thought I felt myself above 
doing any manual labor) that I could go and play after 
the work was done. 

The garden was some distance from the house, on the 
side of the mountain, and I had to carry the manure and 



BIRTHPLACE. 13 

potatoes on my back. However, my brother William as- 
sisted me, and my chum, Dick, who was always on hand, 
came, and suggested that I should go and hunt rabbits on 
the other side of the mountain. But how could I go? I 
had my task to perform — to plant the potatoes. Dick 
helped me a little., He was stronger and older than my- 
self, and suggested that we should dig a hole and put 
more than half of the potatoes into it and cover them up. 
I thought it was a very good idea, and we planted them 
in that way, as I was in a hurry to get the w^ork done, an- 
ticipating great pleasure in hunting rabbits. My father 
came home that night from his hard day's work in the 
quarry, and inspected the patch that was planted by his 
son '' Bob," and to his great surprise found that the pota- 
toes had been planted in a wholesale manner, in one hole. 
The usual whipping came, but Dick and I had our fun 
hunting rabbits all the same. We had a little dog which 
used to go with us, but did not know the difference be- 
tween a rabbit and a skunk, but he was as wise as myself 
regarding that matter, as the sequel will show. He led 
us about two miles aw^ay from home to the swamp, and 
began to dig for game in a hole he had found in the bog. 
I concluded we had the rabbit then sure. He worked 
faithfully, and we helped him as we could, for we were 
anxious to catch the game. Dick would dig a little, I 
would dig a little, and the dog would dig a little. At last 
we thought we would put our hands into the hole, and, 
doing so, I felt the soft fur of an animal, and supposed it 
was that of a beautiful Welsh rabbit. The dog continued 
barking, and I took hold of the foot of the animal and 
pulled it out, and Dick quickly threw his coat over it. 
We tied a string to each foot and took it home, proud of 
our game, delighted with the rabbit, and never thought 
pf the potatoes, nor pf the whipping awaiting us. But 



14 BIRTHPLACE. 

the rabbit turned out to be a skunk, and I leave the rest 
to your imagination. 

I was faint and hungry when I reached home at eight 
o'clock that night, and I ventured to go to the door and 
called to my mother to come and see the rabbit. 

Father was sitting down to his supper, but jumped up 
and told me to come in, but the odor was too great for 
him, and he took me to the hog pen, after kicking me 
two or three times, making me take off my clothes. He 
then killed the skunk and buried it, burying my clothes 
at the same time, to free them from the unpleasant condi- 
tion they were in. I had to go to bed without my supper 
and prepare myself for a double punishment in the morn- 
ing, for planting the potatoes in one hole and digging a 
skunk out of another. I never forgot that whipping, and 
laid in bed four days from the effects of it, and had to 
wait for my clothes to be washed and dried, so I could 
have them to wear again. 

Another of my many pranks will show the peculiar 
nature of a wild boy determined on having a good time, 
notwithstanding the restraints of a fond and loving 
mother. About a month had elapsed since the adven- 
ture with the *' rabbit '' when my dear sister Kate and 
myself were sent by our parents to the village, six miles 
distant, to get some groceries for the family. As we had 
no conveyance of any kind we had to walk. My sister 
was lame, but she was a good Christian girl and bore her 
misfortune with meekness. 

My mother dressed me in my Sunday suit, and we 
started together for the village. We had some eggs to 
exchange for groceries, and I carried the basket. My 
mother had a nice silk handkerchief, a wedding present 
from my father, and therefore valued very highly, which 
she tied around my neck to add to my appearance. After 



BIRTHPLACE. 15 

we had gone about three miles we came to a little railroad 
that ran from the quarries to Caernarvon. 

I jumped on the train as it passed slowly by, and left 
my poor sister Kate to go the balance of the way alone 
with the basket of eggs. I did not see her again until I 
arrived home about nine o'clock in the evening, feeling as 
guilty as a boy would under the circumstances, for I had 
traded my mother's beautiful silk handkerchief for a lunch 
of apples, candy and blood sausages. I saw the light in the 
window as I approached the house. Father was in bed, 
but mother, as usual, was anxiously watching, as a loving 
mother would, for her wayward boy. He quickly jumped 
out of bed, dressed himself, and got the rope ready 
to give me a whipping, but mother told him I had lost 
the handkerchief, for I had lied to her, and she did it to 
screen me. And now what was to be done? I knew I 
was to have a severe punishment, for I was guilty. As 
quick as lightning the thought came to me to run away 
from my father, for I had a terrible fear of him, and in the 
darkness of the night I ran away from home to the side 
of the mountain, and quickly got out of sight. 

I came to a pond known as ''the pond without a bot- 
tom." Here lived a one-legged shoemaker who made 
our shoes, and was a friend to me. He gave me some- 
thing to eat. I used to go there often, because he was 
kind to me, but he drank and so did my father. 

When I went into his house he was cobbling shoes, 
but had his work nearly done, as it was now ten 
o^clock at night. I had a pair of shoes on my feet which 
had many large nails in the bottom, as they wore such in 
the quarries. I did not remain there long, for fear my 
father would follow and find me, so I started along the 
edge of the pond toward the sheepfold, a place of shelter 
made for the sheep. But Satan put it into my mind to 



16 BIRTHPLACE. 

scare my father and make him think I had drowned my- 
self. I took off my shoes and left them at the edge of 
the pond, put my stockings in another place, my vest by 
itself and my suspenders by themselves, and made a cir- 
cuit around by the sheep pen. Then I gathered stones 
and made a shelter for myself where I thought they could 
not find me. 

I was very tired and soon fell asleep. My father had 
been hunting for me and had traced my footsteps in the 
sand, and with several of the neighbors came to the old 
shoemaker's house, and he told them I had been there a 
short time before. My father threatened to almost kill 
me when he found me. The shoemaker volunteered to 
go with him, and taking a lantern they soon found my 
shoes on the edge of the pond. They all decided that I 
had drowned myself, and going a little farther they found 
my jacket, and still farther they found my vest and suspen- 
ders. There were in the party hunting for the lost wild 
Welsh boy, my father, my sister Kate, the one-legged 
shoemaker, and our next-door neighbor. Will Needhouse, 
and the little dog that found the rabbit, expecting to find 
my body in the bottom of the pond. They continued 
their search for several hours, with pitchforks and any- 
thing they could get to pry into the depths of the 
dark waters, but all to no avail; they did not find me 
there. 

They marched on a little farther, and saw by the lan- 
tern's dim light the impressions of my bare feet in the soft 
clay, and along the side of the stone wall they followed my 
trail with the aid of the little dog. As I was well walled in 
they could not see me. I awoke about this time and 
heard my father moaning and crying for the first time in 
my life. I always thought he had no pity in his heart 
and I trembled all over. I was cold and chilly as it was 



BIRTHPLACE. 17 

long in the night and I had been in that exposed condi- 
tion several hours. I heard my father say to the shoe- 
maker: ** If I can only find my boy I will never punish 
him again.'* Many fathers often punish their children in 
fits of anger, and without discretion or sufficient reason, 
which alienates their affection for their parents, making 
them feel rebellious and awakening in their young hearts 
a spirit of revenge. 

The little dog staid by the pile of stones where I was 
secreted and barked, for he had found his master and 
would not go away. My father began to pull the stones 
down from my hiding place, saying: '' If I can only find 
him alive I will never whip him again." 

A few moments afterward he found his poor, way- 
ward boy, nearly frozen to death, almost naked, and with- 
out shoes, stockings, coat, vest or suspenders, as they had 
been left at the edge of the pond. My father took hold 
of me and gave me a great shaking, although he had just 
been weeping, and said: ''When I get you home, gentle- 
man, I will pay you for this." The shoemaker and the 
other neighbors went home with us, which was nearly a 
mile away. 

It w^as then about two o'clock in the morning and 
quite cold. My younger brother, sisters and mother 
were all crying, but there was joy in her heart when she 
saw her boy brought back. She put her arms around my 
neck and kissed me again and again, and said, in her plead- 
ing voice to my father: " You must not punish him to- 
night," and she took me in her arms and said to my 
father: "William, you can kill me, but you must not 
punish Robert to-night, for you have hardened him, and 
have taken all the love from his heart and made him 
hate you." 

She prevailed on him then with a mother's loving 



18 BIRTHPLACE. 

entreaties, and gave me some supper, and plead with me 
to be a good boy in the future. I made many prom- 
ises to her that I would obey her, and I would now give 
the whole world, if I had it, if I had not broken one of 
them, for she was a good mother to me, my best friend, 
but I could not appreciate it then, and she is now mol- 
dering in the grave. I love to visit the city of the dead, 
and to kiss the little daisies, all spangled with the dew- 
drops of the morning, growing on the little mound where 
my sainted mother sleeps her long sleep, until the Resur- 
rection morning, when I hope to meet her again. 

After all had become quiet again in the household, 
and things going on as usual, one beautiful morning I 
took a walk down to see my old chum, Dick, being on 
my way to see a very wealthy farmer, who was a squire, 
a justice of the peace who lived in an ancient castle two 
miles beyond Dick's home. My father had borrowed a 
little Shetland pony from my uncle, who was superintend- 
ent of the estate. I was sent to take the pony home, but 
remained awhile with my friend Dick, as I found him all 
alone. In the meantime my sister Kate came to repay 
some flour that my mother had borrowed some time 
before, as we received our flour in barrels the first of the 
month. Kate was my senior by two years and was four- 
teen years of age at that time. 

Dick requested me to bring the pony into the house, 
which I did. We found a barrel of flour, which had been 
opened, and Dick proposed that we should play ** flour 
mill." And this was our plan for our morning sport. 

We took the old spinning wheel and set it into the 
middle of the floor, and put the fire tongs through the 
wheel, then we tied a bed cord to each end of the 
tongs and put the rope up through the ceiling, sus- 
pending the wheel over the flour barrel. We turned the 



BIRTHPLACE. 19 

wheel and the flour flew all over the house, pony, sister 
Kate and ourselves. The wheel buzzed around and the 
flour made us all as white as snow. We enjoyed the fun 
hugely. The closing of this little episode was not so 
funny, as it nearly resulted in the death of my sister 
Kate. We took the wheel down and gathered the flour 
from the floor, putting it into the barrel, but it was only 
half full, showing that nearly half had been destroyed. 
Dick proposed another scheme, to add to our enjoyment, 
and that was to play hangman. As a man had recently 
been hung in Wales, all of the children in the public 
schools had been told of it, as a warning to them. We 
had no Sunday-schools at that time. The same rope that 
suspended the old wheel in the barrel of flour was used 
as the hangman's rope, but where to get the criminal we did 
not know, as there were only three of us besides the pony. 
But Dick quickly proposed that my sister Kate should act 
as one, for she was so judged by the court, as Dick acted 
as judge, while I was the lawyer and the pony looked on 
as a spectator. Sentence was passed, and she was to be 
hung by the neck until she was dead. 

We persuaded her to stand on the table. We then put 
a sheet around her, and the loop around her neck. Dick 
held the rope tightly, pullirig;her up, while I removed the 
table, leaving the poor girl suspended between heaven 
and earth two feet from the floor. 

Dick held on to the end of the rope, and she began 
to cry and scream, her face changing color, but in the 
providence of God Dick's mother came home at that 
moment, and rushing in saw the scene. The house was 
all in confusion, table turned upside down, the pony 
standing there covered with flour looking like a white 
polar bear, all but his ears, flour all over the floor and 
furniture, the wheel broken, and poor Kate hung by the 

2 



20 BIRTHPLACE. 

neck, almost dead, screaming at the top of her voice and 
crying for help, and her boy Dick and his chum Bob 
Williams in high glee, having their fun, which they had 
been prompted to do by his Satanic majesty, for there was 
no other spirit that would prompt us to do such a dast- 
ardly thing. She quickly took Kate in her arms and as- 
sisted her down, saving her life, for she was almost dead. 
With a conscience filled with remorse for the deeds of the 
past, I draw the curtain for a while over the mistakes of 
my boyhood, and will now give a description of our fam- 
ily and the scenes connected with our leaving for the 
New World. 




CHAPTER II. 

LEAVING WALES. 

The old farm was sold to a minister of the gospel, liv- 
ing near us. The gold was laid down on our old wooden 
table, the legal papers were exchanged, and that night 
was a memorable one to the whole family. A few of our 
Welsh neighbors were gathered in to witness the sale and 
transfer of the farm and homestead. My mother was a 
member of the little church at Caernarvon, the pastor of 
which had bought our farm. We all loved him dearly, 
for he was a noble man of God. His name was Rev. John 
Jones. 

I shall never forget the scenes of that night. They had 
afarewell prayer meeting, shaking of hands, and many tears 
were shed and the last good-byes said. For the first time 
in my life the old family Bible made an impression on my 
young heart. My mother held it in her hand, and the 
minister, pointing to it, said: '' That will guide you all the 
way to America, and through life to that city where we 
shall meet to part no more." That book was to me from 
that day something most mysterious, and I loved it as I 
never had before. The next morning we began getting 
ready, packing our bedding and other goods for the jour- 
ney. It did not take long, as we were very poor. 

I remember of asking my mother in which box the 
Bible was placed. She replied: ''It is in the bottom of 
the old wooden chest." I said to her: *' How can you 
leave it there, as you read it so much?" She then took 

21 



22 LEAVING WALES. 

it out and placed it on the top, where she could find it 
readily. A strange wish then came into my heart and a 
strange desire, altogether new to me, which I finally told 
my mother of, and that was to become a preacher of 
the gospel. I asked her if she thought God would ever 
allow me to go back to Wales and preach. She said, 
" God was very good, and she had no doubt He would 
permit me to return to my native land and preach Jesus 
to the people where I first began to sin," and I am now 
on my way there, God willing. 

On the third day all was ready, and we started on our 
journey. My dear mother, having the youngest child, 
only four months old, in her arms, looked sorrowfully 
back upon the old home for the last time, just before the 
mountain hid it from view. 

The scenes of her early youth, and the associations of 
her past life made her weep, thinking she was never to see 
them again, and together we breathed a farewell prayer. 
We arrived in Caernarvon that afternoon in time to take 
the steamer for Liverpool, the city so noted throughout 
the world as a great seaport on account of its excellent 
wharves. Providentially my mother's sister lived there, 
the wife of William Taylor, an Englishman in good cir- 
cumstances, and the proprietor of the ** Crown Vault," one 
of the leading hotels in the city, located in Highfield 
street, near the market. This aunt had two sons and 
three daughters. One of the sons, Prof. Wm. Taylor, Jr., 
is professor of mathematics and navigation on H. M. 
Receiving ship in the port of Liverpool. 

We remained here a week, and we children had a good 
time going around the streets seeing the sights so new to 
us, while father was busy getting ready to go on board 
the old sailing ship, ''John Bently." After bidding our 
friends in Liverpool good-bye, we embarked. There 



LEAVING WALES. 23 

were six hundred passengers besides ourselves. Two 
hundred of them were Welsh people on their way to the 
New World seeking homes beyond the sea. This was 
in the year 1844. The vessel set sail, and taking our last 
look at the great city and the land of our birth, the ship 
launched out into the channel which led to the great 
ocean that was to bear us on its bosom to that land which 
is so beautifully and truly spoken of by poets and histo- 
rians as the 

" Land of the free and the home of the brave." 




CHAPTER III. 



A VOYAGE ON THE OCEAN. 



We are now out on the sea looking back toward our 
mountain home, which remained in sight for several days. 
The Snowdon mountain lighted up by the rays of the 
glorious orb of day as it sank out of sight in the west. 
By evening of the third day we were so far out that the 
clouds and darkness hid forever from our view the land 
we loved so well. The vessel was now dancing up and down 
on the waves of the mighty Atlantic, steering its course 
toward the New World. In the evening the great orb of 
night seemed to arise up out of the midst of the waters, 
and, kissed by the spray of the ocean as the great waves 
dashed high, sparkled like so many diamonds, making a 
beautiful picture which no artist could paint, for it was 
God's work, and none can excel the touch of His artistic 
hand. It made a lasting impression on my mind. 

The voyage on the ocean became monotonous, like all 
sea voyages, until the tenth morning, when we were all 
summoned upon deck to witness the burial of one of the 
passengers who had died of smallpox, which had made 
its appearance in the hold of the vessel. It was a young 
and beautiful girl of seventeen, the oldest of her family. 
Only a few days previous she was full of mirth and joy, 
happy in the thought of soon seeing America and her 
new home beyond the sea. But God called her to leave 
her friends, who wept and mourned that one so lovely was 

24 



A VOYAGE ON THE OCEAN. 25 

to them no more. A solemn thought entered my young 
heart when I saw her body, which was brought up on deck 
after it was prepared for burial. It w^as weighted and 
sewed in such a manner as to leave nothing but the face, 
pale in death, exposed. All who wished were permitted 
to look upon her for the last time. For a few moments 
there was a hushed silence among the passengers who 
were gathered about in groups here and there on the 
deck. The sea was calm. A little bell was rung by the 
captain of the vessel, who read the burial service and 
uttered a prayer, although not plainly heard, because of 
the moaning and weeping of the father, mother, brothers, 
sisters and friends of the deceased. The sailors laid the 
body on a plank and placed it on the bulwark of the 
ship. Every eye turned tow^ard it, waiting for the signal 
which was to be given by the captain, w^ho then said, 
*'let go," and the body was instantly buried in the sea. 
During all of this time the vessel was under sail, but 
made little progress, as the w^nd w^as calm. The sail- 
ors called our attention to the number of sharks fol- 
lowing the ship, and we could see them distinctly in the 
wake of the vessel, know^ing too well what they were 
waiting for. It was the first time in my life I had ever 
seen a shark, those terrible monsters of the deep that 
often follow vessels on the ocean. 

Three other deaths occurred on the ship before we 
reached the end of our journey, and they were all buried 
in the depths of the sea. I often think since my change 
of heart of the wonderful promises of God "That the sea 
shall give up its dead, and all of its mystery," and that 
" it shall be no more." After a voyage of fourteen weeks, 
with much sickness on board of the ship, we arrived at the 
end "of our journey and were quarantined ten days until 
the vessel was thoroughly inspected and fumigated. 



26 A VOYAGE ON THE OCEAN. 

We were then all directed to take the tender or quar- 
antine boat and were landed at Quebec, the noted city of 
Canada. It was then in the month of August and the 
hottest season of the year. The Welsh people all joined 
together and put up quilts to keep the sun from shining 
on us and we used our trunks for chairs and tables. 

Here we received the first fresh meat, fish and bread 
in our new home and the children enjoyed the milk and 
butter, and we thought it was Paradise and a land of 
plenty. 

We staid in Quebec three days and then started up 
the river to Ottawa, but some of our party went in oppo- 
site directions; so we were separated, not expecting ever 
to see each other again. We soon reached a little town 
called Lower Ottawa on the St. Lawrence river. Here 
my father began work for the first time this side of the 
Atlantic. Within two months after our arrival every 
member of our family was taken sick with ship fever. 
Our money was all gone, but God in His infinite good- 
ness gave us friends through my dear mother, and we 
were kindly cared for by Christian people. Some of the 
children were sick nigh unto death and I among the num- 
ber. After I recovered J began w ork by riding the horses 
on the tow path of the canal. Two Welsh families stayed 
with us in Ottawa, viz., Wm. Evans, who is still living 
and is an organ manufacturer at Bridgeport, 111., a little 
south of Chicago, whom I met not long since. He is a 
deacon in the First Congregational cKurch in Lockport, 
and the other's name was John W. Jones, known by every 
Welshman in America and in Wales as the distinguished 
editor and proprietor of the celebrated Welsh paper 
called The Drieh, published in Utica, N. Y. He died 
two years ago, an atheist, as he had lived in that belief, 
but his memory will live in the hearts of every Welshman, 



A VOYAGE ON THE OCEAN. 27 

for his kind and charitable acts. We three were about 
the same age and companions on board the ship. They 
left for the states in a few months, but we remained in 
Canada and spent the winter in that little town. I am 
sorry to say my father's bad habits continued the same in 
the New World though far away from his old associates. 
His influence was always bad upon me, and from that 
little village I soon took my departure bidding farewell to 
my family and home. 

My father and I worked for a rich man of the neigh- 
borhood digging out stone from his field. 

One day when we were working together my father 
became violently angry and threatened to kill me, and 
with an oath said he would bury me in one of the holes 
we had dug, which made an impression on my mind that 
will never be effaced, for there are wounds made on our 
hearts which nothing but death can remove. 

I told all this to my mother one day when we were in 
the garden together and that I would not go into the field 
to work again with my father, and I begged her to allow 
me to go to Kingston, upper Canada, that I might get 
work there. I plead with her until she finally consented 
and said, while still weeping: '' My dear boy, I must part 
with you, though the cord that binds you to my heart be 
broken in sunder. Go if you must, but your mother's 
prayers will go with you. God forever bless you, my pre- 
cious boy." 



CHAPTER IV. 



A WANDERER FROM HOME. 



The next morning mother and sister Kate gathered 
together my few clothes, and bidding all good-bye except 
my father, for I was afraid to see him again lest he should 
really kill me, with a sad heart and shedding many 
tears I started up the canal for Kingston. My mother's 
tearful face went with me all the way. I can close my 
eyes now, after so many years have intervened, and imme- 
diately see that sad, never-to-be-forgotten scene, arising 
before me, and it can never be obliterated. 

Arriving in Kingston, I soon found a friend in Mr. 
Joseph Dailey, who was keeping a hotel. He had a good 
old mother, a Catholic, as were all the members of the 
family. But they had love in their hearts for the little 
wandering Welsh boy, now homeless and among 
strangers. I acted as bell boy in the hotel as well as 
messenger. 

I was now thirteen years of age and could speak but very 
little English, but soon picked up a little French, and by 
combining the two languages was fortunate enough to 
make myself understood. 

I had the pleasure of meeting and serving many dis- 
tinguished men, as the Parliament was held here, and 
many of the members treated me with kindness and often 
gave me money. Here I began my forty-eight years of 
hotel life, and I remained until spring, then went across 
the river into the United States and went to Utica, N. Y., 

28 



A WANDERER FROM HOME. 29 

with a colored man named Mink, who owned his stage, 
on which he gave me a pass. It took us five days to 
make the journey. I was taken sick with the measles 
during that time, and when I arrived in Utica I was so 
weak they had to carry me to the hotel. 

For six weeks I was in a critical condition, but, 
being among my own countrymen, I w^as well cared for, 
and after I had fully recovered I started for Albany on 
the Erie canal, working my passage. Here I found 
employment at the Thompson House as a bell boy. 

The proprietor's name was O. W. Fisk, an uncle of 
James Fisk, of New York. After remaining here a short 
time I went to Syracuse and took the same position in 
the old Globe Hotel, kept by Captain Cody. 

Here I had an accident, while wrestling with a young 
man, and I broke my right leg. The head waiter sent me 
to his room and took care of me for six weeks, until I 
partly recovered, but one day, being anxious to get down 
stairs, I tried going down with the aid of an old broom 
stick, fell, and broke my leg the second time. I was 
laid up for another six weeks, and the heartless pro- 
prietor, Captain Cody, sent me out of the hotel, and I 
had to sleep in an old broken carriage in the back 
yard, where during the night I was almost frozen; but my 
old friend, the head waiter, gave me something to eat and 
sent me back to Albany. I was quite lame, but never- 
theless went around trying to find work. I wandered into 
a doctor's ofifice to see if he wanted a boy, and how 
plainly now I can see God's ruling hand in that occurrence, 
for the servant girl, after telling the lady of the house a 
boy was at the door asking for work, invited me to come 
into the parlor to see her mistress. 

The lady had a beautiful face, full of the radiance of 
God's love, and, although my clothes were not very clean^ 



30 A WANDERER FROM HOME. 

she told me to sit beside her. She then asked me many 
questions about my mother and where I came from. She 
then asked me if I was hungry, and as I was I told her so. 
Then she sent me down to the kitchen and the cook gave 
me a good meal. This was the first Christian kindness I 
had met with since I left my friend, Moses Yacht, in 
Syracuse, and it warmed my heart. Returning to the 
parlor, this good lady asked me if I could read and write. 
I told her I was sorry to say I could not. I must have 
been very backward, for I was then nearly fifteen years 
of age. She then asked me if I would kneel with her in 
prayer, and as she prayed I saw her weeping, which made 
a strong impression on my heart, and I loved her 
for her kindness to a lonely boy. I was employed from 
that time in the ofifice of her husband, whose name was 
Dr. Hunn, one of the wealthiest and most distinguished 
physicians in Albany. Through the Christ-like love that 
dwelt in the heart of this Christian lady I was taught to 
read, write, and to send the first letter I ever wrote 
to my dear mother in Canada. She taught me to read the 
Bible and pray in English, and took me with her in her 
carriage to Bishop Potter's church, of which she was a 
member. She always sympathized with the poor, and 
aided them in many ways, like Dorcas of old. After two 
years I left that lovely Christian home and school, and 
that was the only time in my life that I had any oppor- 
tunity to learn. Soon after I left Albany the doctor and 
his most estimable wife both passed away, dying in the 
faith, having completed the work the Master gave them 
to do, and the gratitude of the wandering Welsh boy will 
ever be increased by even thinking of the burial place of 
those dear friends, Dr. and Mrs. Hunn, away off there 
in the city of the dead, on the banks of the beautiful 
Hudson. 



CHAPTER V. 



LEAVING FOR CHICAGO. 



I went to Buffalo from Albany in the year 1847, ^^^ 
took the position as cabin boy on a schooner bound for 
Chicago, which was named after the captain's daughter, 
Mariah Hilliard, who is still living in the great metropo- 
lis of the west. 

After a passage of four weeks we reached our desti- 
nation and cast anchor in the harbor. At that time 
Chicago was only a small city, having no railroads and 
few hotels. It was my first visit to the west. There have 
been many changes since that time. There were no street 
cars then, and my first impressions of Chicago are indel- 
ibly stamped upon my mind. The streets were very 
muddy, only a few were paved, and in some places 
there was doubt of finding the bottom. For instance, on 
Lake street I saw this sign placed where every passer by 
could behold it: ''NO BOTTOM HERE." It was with 
great difficulty that teams got about. 

But a few years have brought great changes in the city. 
Now there are many broad boulevards and parks, delight- 
ful avenues, palatial residences, great hotels, magnificent 
business blocks, some of them twenty stories in height, 
railroads almost without number entering the city, and 
from a population of a few thousand at that time the city 
now numbers over a million and a half of people. 

I obtained a position in the old American Hotel, on 

31 



32 LEAVING FOR CHICAGO. 

Clark street, as a knife cleaner, at nine dollars per month, 
I visited the theaters and places of amusement and never 
thought of saving my money, for which I had worked so 
hard. 

The Mexican war broke out at this time and I often 
listened to the inspiring strains of martial music, the fife 
and drum and bugle, as the soldiers marched through the 
streets, which always awakened in me a desire to be a 
soldier and go to the field of battle. I r.oon found my 
way to the headquarters and asked to be allowed to enlist. 
They said I *' might do for a powder monkey," but after 
measuring me I was found to be half an inch too short 
and but for that circumstance my life would have been 
entirely different. One ought to be thankful for the 
small things of life, for in this case only half an inch in 
stature changed the whole course of my life, which makes 
me think of the lines of the poet: 

"A pebble on the streamlet scant 
Has changed the course of many a river, 

A dew drop on the baby plant 

Has marked the giant oak forever." 

Even a sparrow doth not fall to the ground without 
God's notice. 

It was a great disappointment to me that T was 
not accepted and could not become a soldier. I had 
become so enthused with the military spirit that I pur- 
chased an old second-hand carbine, and used to practice 
shooting at the trees across the river, and at any game 
that I could see, and there were ducks in those days on 
the Chicago river, as well as Indians, not far away, as we 
could see them often, paddling in their canoes on the 
water, hunting for game. I soon spent all of my money 
sporting, and was penniless, and out of a situation again, 
without a place to sleep or anything to eat. For '' the 



LEAVING FOR CHICAGO. 33 

fool and his money had parted," alas, how soon ! and 
were friends no more. But I found a friend in a Mrs. 
Williams, the head cook in the old Lake House. 

She gave me money often, and something to eat. 
While attending the meetings at the First M. E. Church, 
on the corner of Clark and Washington streets, she 
became converted. Here she met the Hon. Judge Good- 
rich, then a prominent member of the church, and a dis- 
tinguished member of the bar in the city. She made him 
her agent, and gave him her money to invest for her. He 
did so, and being very successful, she became quite 
wealthy. But meeting her again, after forty-seven years 
had passed, I learned that she had been married, and very 
unfortunate in the later years of her domestic life. Be- 
coming a little tired of Chicago, and not having been 
successful while there in business, I thought I would 
return to Boston, and try my fortunes again there. I did 
so, and made an engagement with Messrs. Holeman and 
Clark, managers of the United States Hotel, as a bell boy. 

Here I became acquainted with a young man some 
older than myself, by the name of Bidwell. He was an 
American, but claimed to be an atheist. He was certainly 
an unbeliever and a thoroughly bad man. With him I 
went into avenues of sin which before this I had not 
known were in existence, into the very jaws of death, 
even to the mouth of hell, and the echoes of the damned 
are still ringing in my ears as the procession of sad memo- 
ries of my misspent life rise up before me. Why did not 
God annihilate me ere I so desecrated the temple which 
He had made for His indwelling. 

But alas! the little seed of good thoughts and aspira- 
tions sown in my heart by those Christian friends, Dr. 
and Mrs. Hunn, was being choked by contaminating asso- 
ciation, if not entirely uprooted. 



34 LEAVING FOR CHICAGO. 

First he led me into all manner of drinking houses 
and saloons which were so numerous in the city of Boston. 
Much to my shame and sorrow at being so easily led 
he succeeded in making me a drunkard. 

He also took me into many of the gambling houses 
and other places of wickedness which I shudder to men- 
tion. He persuaded me to go to theaters and opera 
houses to see the plays, and I think there was no 
place of iniquity in the city that we did not visit, which 
as bell boys we had access to, for he acted as agent and 
guide for the devil, his master, to take us, and step by step 
I became a slave to the wiles of him whom I was serving. 
I became accustomed at that early age to and delighted 
in all kinds and manner of drinks. 

In 1848 I changed my position, and became night 
clerk at the Revere House, which position I held for 
a year or so. At this hotel I became acquainted with 
many distinguished and noted persons, who have since 
passed away. Among them were Daniel Webster, N. P. 
Banks, Rufus Choate, James Fisk, Jenny Lind, Madam 
Anna Fillion, and many other operatic and theatrical 
people and actors in all the various phases of stage life, 
as well as many renowned politicians. 

After this engagement I took a position as clerk 
in the large European hotel on the corner of Bacon 
and Tremont streets, under the management of Major 
Barton, where I became acquainted with George Vander- 
hoff and George W. Warren, and other distinguished 
persons who used to stop there. 

I left this hotel to become, by the influence of Robert 
G. Cotman, assistant manager of the wealthiest club 
in Boston. Here my services brought me in contact with 
the wealthy and most celebrated people in the city — the 
Hancocks, Dr. Beethoven, the Lawrences, and other 
me^ibers of the club whose names I have now forgotten. 



CHAPTER VI. 



LIFE ON THE STAGE. 



At this time the needle of my life's compass pointed 
in another direction, and I crave the indulgence of my 
reader while I give a short description of my four years' 
life and experiences on the stage and in the green room. 
I was charmed and my senses bewildered by the glitter- 
ing scenes and associations of the actors and actresses 
with whom I had become acquainted during my hotel 
life. The names of a few I will mention. First, Wm. 
Goodall, of whom Edwin Forrest said if he lived he would 
be the greatest actor in the world. He took a great 
fancy to me, and by his winning entreaties and through 
our drinking associations that bound us together, I left 
the service of the club house and became a member of 
the Howard Athenaeum, under the management of Charles 
Thorn, the veteran actor, one of the Thorns where both 
male and female became so distinguished, viz.: Emily 
Thorn, Edward Thorn, and Charles Thorn, Jr., who died 
in the prime of life, the cause of his death being strong 
drink. 

Some of my associates at the time of my life which 
was spent on the stage were John R. Scott, J. R. 
McVicker (owner of McVicker's theater, Chicago), Julia 
Daily, Redmond Ryan, Mrs. Melinda Jones and daughter, 
the beautiful actress who was burned at New Orleans. 
My first engagement brought me in contact with some of 
3 35 



LIFE ON THE STAGE. 



the most distinguished actors and actresses that have 
been known from that time until the present. The last 
engagement I had at the Howard was to play an impor- 
tant part, with Lola Montez as the Countess of Bavaria. 
I also had the pleasure to act as her lover in another play 
entitled " Charlotte Corday," or " The Maid of Saragosa," 
also in her own play of " Lola Montez in Bavaria," and 
finally in her most beautiful of all plays, the " Cabin Boy " 
or the "Wept of Wish-ton- Wish." But she, too, has 
passed away, and her name is seldom spoken, lingering 
only in the memory of some of her early admirers. 

Leaving Boston and going back to New York, 
after an absence of nine years I made an engagement 
with Charles Parslow to go to Charleston, S. C, to play 
through the winter as a heavy man in the Charleston 
theater, then under the management of Charles Sloan 
and Stage Manager Barrett. I played there with many 
distinguished actors—Forrest, Booth, Barrett and others. 
Here I became perfectly inebriated with drink, seldom 
seeing a sober day or night during the entire engagement 
in Charleston. Hardly a night did I go to bed without 
having a bottle of cherry brandy in order to help me 
study my part. I seemed to become perfectly infatuated 
with fancy drinks, such as cordials and wines of all ages 
and different ingredients. Now they look to me like so 
many fiery fiends, hissing at the poor drunkard as he 
passes by them. Then they were my bosom companions, 
and we nestled lovingly in one another's arms. I can 
now realize the meaning of the words of that poor maniac 
drunkard, when he said: " I have seen the fiends of hell 
in phantoms that no pen, not Shakespeare, not Byron, nor 
Fitz Green Halleck, nor Longfellow, nor any poet or 
artist, not even Dante's Inferno, can portray or describe 
the horrors that come to me, a drunkard, when in the 



LIFE ON THE STAGE. 37 

delirium caused by the cursed drink." He is like Dives, 
when he cried to Lazarus to bring him a drop of cold 
water to cool his parched tongue while in the torment of 
the flames. There is this difference, the drunkard cries 
for whisky: "Oh! give me whisky to cool my parched 
tongue; give me something that will drown the voice of 
my sin-stained conscience. Is there no escape?" *' No," 
says the drunkard, '' it's too late! too late! I am doomed. 
There was a time when I might have escaped all this, but 
it is now too late. Give me rum; I will have rum! I 
have sown the wind, I must reap the whirlwind, even if it 
is in hell! " 

Dear reader, I have experienced all this, and more, if 
possible. I fancied at one time I was in a dark and hid- 
eous cellar or gulf, alone in a great abyss, surrounded by 
serpents of all sizes, boa constrictors, rattlesnakes, huge 
alligators with mouths wide open, fierce demons with 
eyes glaring at me, with their forked tongues spitting 
forth venom, the poison of hell, and chattering at me 
with their teeth. I saw an innumerable number of bodies 
of the dead and dying; also many beasts groaning with 
pain and anguish, seemingly dying and yet not dead. I 
looked a little farther and saw skeletons scattered here and 
there, being burned in liquid fire, red and glaring, and 
yet not consumed. I wanted to get away, but was kept 
there, until at last I saw a light, which broke into the 
gloom around me like a ray of hope coming into the 
heart filled with despair. I started toward the light and 
saw an angel clothed in white extending her hand toward 
me, beckoning me to come. 

Summoning all the courage and effort of will I could 
master, I started, stumbling over the carcasses of the dead 
and slimy creatures. Following the light as best I could, 
and my angel guide, at last I reached the open day, and 



38 LIFE ON THE STAGE. 

awakening from this terrible trance, which was more 
of a reality, I found myself alone. The angel had gone, 
and I resolved then and there never to touch the unclean 
thing again and prayed to be delivered from such a curse. 
I found that the way of the transgressor is hard, 
that there is no peace for the wicked, that ** the wages of 
sin is death," but, also, that the *' gift of God is eternal 
life." 




CHAPTER VIL 



BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. 



After my engagement in the Charleston theater was 
ended, for a few months I filled a vacancy in the old 
La Fayette House, in Wilmington, N. C, as general clerk. 
I there became acquainted with a number of prominent 
southern politicians and statesmen, and Jo Davis, the noted 
slave dealer of Richmond, who afterward became the 
proprietor of the Purcell House. I staid there five 
months and returned to Charleston in the fall of 1853, and 
acted as night clerk in the Mills House in that city, then 
under the management of the Nickerson Brothers, Jo 
Purcell, of New York, being the principal clerk. 

Among the many patrons and guests at this hotel 
with whom I became acquainted were Jefferson Davis, 
Jo Davis, Alex Stevens, Jas. H. Treadwell of Columbia, 
S. C, and Wm. B. Yancy of Montgomery, Ala., one of the 
greatest orators of the South. During my stay there I 
became socially and politically a democrat, bitter to 
the extreme, uniting with the above gentlemen in many 
social toasts and drinks, and partaking with them in their 
many social enjoyments. They were the magnets and 
great lights of the South. I was always delighted 
from my boyhood with fiery oratorical speeches, and had 
a great love for great men, whether in character they 
could be called good, bad or indifferent. 

I will mention a circumstance that took place con- 
cerning the Hon. Jas. H. Treadwell, who was fond of the 

39 



40 BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. 

various cups, champagne, maschino, curiso and absinthe, 
and all of the cordials of the time. He became very 
much intoxicated and lost his beautiful silk hat some- 
where in the streets of Charleston during the night, and 
went home in the morning without it. As he was about 
to leave I had the pleasure of lending him my own hat, 
a new shirt and collar, so he could return to his family in 
Columbia as a gentleman, which he was, unmistakably, 
when sober. A month later I visited Columbia and was 
the guest of this distinguished lawyer, who more than re- 
paid me for my little kindness of being to him, as he said, 
a friend indeed in a time of need. 

I returned again to Charleston, and while waiting at 
the depot I chanced to find a large pocketbook lying on 
the floor near the ticket window, containing $2,800 in 
bank checks and $800 in bills of large denominations 
on the Cape Fear Bank of Wilmington, N. C. Wonder- 
ing what to do with the pocketbook, not knowing fully 
its contents, and almost trembling with fear I ventured 
to ask the ticket clerk if any one had inquired for a lost 
pocketbook. He said '' No." I partly opened it and 
saw bills of the denomination of 20's but did not have 
time to count the money, as the train was then about 
ready to start for Charleston; but as I started for the 
train I saw a large, fine appearing man coming out of one 
of the cars, looking down on the platform, feeling in his 
pockets, and evidently very much excited. 

Thinking by his manner he had lost something, I 
walked up to him and said: '* Have you lost anything ? " 
He looked at me very suspiciously (which I now can 
remember very vividly). He said, quickly, ** Yes, Sir. 1 
have lost my pocketbook." I then said to him: ** I have 
found one, but I do not know its contents. If you can 
describe it correctly it shall be yours, and not otherwise." 



BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. . 41 

He gave me his name as Robinson, of the firm of 
Whitman & Robinson, a large agricultural firm of Balti- 
more, Md., which is still in existence. He described 
perfectly the checks and names of the bills. I opened 
the wallet and found them as he had described, and gave 
it to him at once. Although the money might have 
been mine, and I had a great desire to keep it, yet a still 
small voice, the meaning of which was taught me by my 
sainted mother when a little boy in our mountain home in 
Wales, said that '' honesty is the best policy " with men 
and God. Conscious of this great fact my heart became at 
ease after I handed him the money, although he did not 
give me a dollar at that time. He said to my employers, 
how^ever, at the Mills House, that I w^as an honest man, 
and handing me his card as he was about leaving for his 
home in Baltimore, invited me kindly to call on him if I 
ever came to the city, and make his house my home as 
long as I remained. 

Ten years after this occurrence I visited Baltimore, 
and at that time I had left my hotel life and was follow- 
ing my old vocation of gambling. I had lost all my 
money in a faro bank at Joe Hall's gambling hell in Phil- 
adelphia, but had enough, however, to take me to Balti- 
more. Remembering the name of the firm Whitman & 
Robinson, I made inquiry and found them, making my- 
self known to Mr. Robinson. He at once invited me to 
his elegant home on Broad street, and I remained there 
during my stay in that city. I met with a warm southern 
welcome, not only as far as food was concerned, but he 
inquired how I was financially situated, and tendered me 
what money I needed at that time with many expressions 
of gratitude and kindness. He introduced me to his part- 
ner, and also to many of his best friends in Baltimore, 
always speaking of the finding of the pocketbook with 



42 BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. 

great pleasure as he introduced me. This proves the truth 
for righteousness, that true '' honesty is the best policy." 
So I was rewarded for the kindness I did him many years 
previous. If I had kept the money I found I would, in 
all probability, have spent it in gambling, and would have 
had a remorse of conscience for not giving it to the right- 
ful owner. *' What will it profit a man if he gain the 
whole world and lose his own soul?" by being dishonest 
to his fellow man, and especially to God, who created 
him. 

As I look back on the pages of my memory, I will 
describe one of the pictures I see there, viz.: my first visit 
to the city of Baltimore (some years previous to my last 
visit there). When I was a bell boy in the Astor House 
in New York, at the time Messrs. Coleman and Stetson 
were proprietors, an inquiry was made by a distinguished 
lawyer of Baltimore, Reverdy Johnson, for a boy to work 
in his office. I was recommended by the head waiter at 
the hotel as an honest Welsh boy, and Mr. Johnson being 
pleased with me, decided to take me back with him. 
That night before leaving he gave me a ticket to a Jenny 
Lind concert which he liad purchased at the renowned 
auction sale of Jenny Lind's first appearance, tickets 
spoken of in P. T* Barnum's early reminiscences in New 
York, when the bids ran so high, and '* Knox, the hatter," 
outbidding all others, received the first choice. It was 
Jenny Lind's first appearance in America, at Castle Gar- 
den Theater. I heard her sing. I was more than charmed. 
I was enraptured. Has the world ever produced a greater 
singer? Certainly not in the estimation of those enthu- 
siasts who heard her at that first concert. Will I ever 
forget her rendering of the Mocking Bird? Never! to 
the longest day of my life. 

I shall always remember Jenny Lind as a star of the 



BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. 43 

first magnitude, whom to see and hear was one of the 
great events of my life, and Mr. Johnson will always be 
remembered for giving me such a feast of song. 

The next morning, at ten o'clock, we started for 
Baltimore, where I entered my new occupation. I 
remained with Mr. Johnson six months, but left with a 
good recommendation from him. I never liked his wife, 
she was so strict with me, although I now see it was for 
my good. I returned to the flesh pots of Egypt, New 
York, and found employment in the noted Washington 
House, No. I Broadway, near Bowling Green, once the 
headquarters of Gen. George Washington, where General 
La Fayette and all of the generals of the Revolution had 
frequently met. The house was now managed by Mapes 
81 Bartlett. I was soon installed as steward and waiter. 

I remained here a year, and then went to the Everett 
House on the corner of Seventeenth street and Fourth 
avenue, near Union Square, where I was made steward. 
This hotel is still in existence, and is kept by Halli- 
day Clapp, Esq. 

After a year's service here, I went to the St. Dennis, 
on the corner of Eleventh street and Broadway. It was 
at that time the leading European hotel of the city, and 
stood opposite to Grace Episcopal Church. The pro- 
prietor was a Frenchman by the name of Monsieur Julien. 
This was in the year 1859, and I was 28 years of age. 
Many noted persons from different parts of the world 
made this hotel their headquarters — English, Spanish, 
French. Among them were Jacob Leroy, who, with his 
family, was considered to be the richest man in New York. 
The Hon. Daniel Webster and wife were also occa- 
sional guests at this house. D. K. Collins, the great 
steamboat man, and his family; Mr. Gaylord, of Califor- 
nia, and others from New Orleans; Ex-Mayor Robert 



44 BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. 

Watterman; and Mrs. Dr. Graham, whose husband was 
then on trial for the murder of Colonel Loring at the St. 
Nicholas Hotel. Fisk and Erkwood, of New Orleans, 
wealthy planters, Knowlton and Tilton, were all wit- 
nesses in that notable trial. Major-General Almonte, 
who was on the staff of General Santa Anna, and minister 
to the United States to settle the debt that was pending 
between Spain and this country, was also a guest at the 
St. Dennis, all of whom I personally knew in my capacity 
and took pleasure in serving. 

About this time General Santa Anna's private secre- 
tary died at the hotel, and I sent a telegram to the Gen- 
eral, who was then at Washington, D. C., telling him of 
the sad event. Later on I had the honor and pleasure of 
visiting him at his private residence on F street in 
Washington. Count Sartise, minister of the French 
legation, and family, were stopping at the St. Dennis at 
this time, and those two families were among the most 
noted in New York, and were rivals in many respects. 

General Almonte drove six red and black Spanish 
horses, having on them the full coat-of-arms of his 
nation. Count Sartise owned six beautiful gray Arabian 
horses, and took great pleasure in driving them through 
Central park and Broadway, The afternoon scenes at 
the hotel were very animating and interesting when these 
gay equipages were about to start. Being accustomed to 
such scenes and such society, I became very proud in 
heart, and thought a hotel manager, though poor, might 
partake of some fashionable pleasures. I therefore 
obtained a bob-tail, short-mane, English-style of a horse 
for my afternoon rides, and was vain enough to imagine 
myself as good as the prince of Wales, and thus my pride 
and vanity were gratified to a great extent, and I thought 
I was of some consequence in the world. At this time I 



BACK TO HOTEL LIFE. 45 

had not learned that all this was vanity and vexation of 
spirit, and that I would have to stand alone in the day of 
judgment to answer for the sins done in the body^ for I 
was a sinner i?i the world and ^/ the world. 

At this hotel I became exceedingly fond of drink, and 
at times drank to excess, and often like many other drink- 
ing men, plead indisposition for my drunkenness. The 
operas and theaters were to me so fascinating that they 
became my ruin. My wicked heart made sinful pleasures 
a joy and delight. 

Charmed with the fashions of this world and its 
pleasures, I became a willing victim to the wiles of Satan, 
that prince of darkness, and step by step was dragged 
down toward the drunkard's hell. 




CHAPTER VIII. 



A VISIT HOME. 



Soon after this I left the St. Dennis Hotel, for the pur- 
pose of visiting my mother and the family, who were now 
living near Utica, N. Y. They had moved from Canada, 
coming by the way of Queenstown and Buffalo, and while 
there that greatest treasure God has given to man was 
stolen from the old wooden chest. It was our old family 
Bible, in which were the family records — the marriages, 
the births and the christenings of the children which had 
been solemnized in the little English Episcopal church 
located by the seaside, near our home in Wales. It was 
nine years since the time I had written my mother from 
Albany, and this visit would be the first meeting with the 
family since leaving our former home in Canada when I 
was a mere boy. Arriving in Utica, I immediately sought 
for employment, my previous experience influencing 
me to apply at some large hotel. I found the position of 
clerk and barkeeper vacant in the Baggs Hotel. The 
proprietor, Wm. Churchill, persuaded me to accept it, 
which I did. Upon inquiry I learned that my parents had 
moved to the little town of York Mills, near Utica. This 
town had large cotton interests. The principal manu- 
facturing establishment was owned by the firm of Camp- 
bell & Walker, whose goods found a ready market all 
over the world. 

The next day after I arrived I called upon the Rev. 

46 



A VISIT HOME. 47 

Treedor Jones, a Welshman, who is at the present time 
living in Keokuk, la. He has grown old and gray in 
the service of his Lord and Master, and is now about 
ninety years of age. 

He accompanied me to my mother's house, and on the 
way there I requested him not to tell the family who I 
was, but introduce me by another name. No one who 
reads this short sketch of my life can imagine for a 
moment how my heart beat all the way from the minister's 
house to that place where I knew in a few moments I was 
to see my beloved mother and clasp her in my arms. I 
was like the prodigal son returning home after many 
years, having wasted all my substance in riotous living 
with boon companions I had found in the various cities 
where I had sojourned. I had disregarded my poor 
mother's tears and prayers, and was like many another 
wayward boy to-day who causes his mother unending 
anxiety and sorrow. Many there are, while I pen these 
lines, away from home and its sacred influences, reveling 
in sin, wasting the best years of their lives in theaters and 
many worse places in our great cities. 

But rest assured, young man, your mother's prayers 
will follow you, and some time you will see the error of 
your ways and weep tears of anguish that you were so 
hardened in sin as to disregard a loving mother's prayers 
and tears. The wandering boy will be brought back to 
his right mind, and to his father's house w^here there is 
'* bread enough and to spare." I thought of my mother's 
acts of love, shielding me from my father's anger and of 
the last time I saw her, so many years ago, standing at 
the gate with her arms around my neck while the tears 
ran down her cheeks. 

How she had there placed her hands upon my head 
and offered a fervent prayer for her boy who was going 



48 A VISIT HOME. 

away from home and her influence, and perhaps she would 
never see him again. 

How well I remembered that sight, the last wave of 
her hand before I disappeared in the distance. 

"Oh, those beautiful, beautiful hands! 

As they pressed my aching brow, 
They cooled the fever and eased the pain; 
Methinks I can feel them now. 

My mother's dear hands, her beautiful hands, 

Which guided me safe o'er life's sands, 
I bless God's name for the memory 

Of mother's own beautiful hands. 

Oh, those beautiful, beautiful hands, 

I shall clasp them again once more. 
As my feet touch the bank of the heavenly land 

We shall meet on that shining shore." 

That was indeed a sad day to me. I did not know 
that I should ever see her again. For I was going I 
knew not whither. Among strangers who perhaps would 
be unkind to me, a poor wandering boy, and my heart 
almost failed me. But I thought of my father's threats 
and the many times he had brutally flogged me, and that 
nerved me to proceed on my lonely journey. 

It was now the month of October and many leaves of 
the trees were falling, most of them changed to the glow- 
ing tints of autumn impressing one's soul with pure and 
lofty thoughts of that great Artist of the universe. The 
grass w^as very dry in the meadows, the rose had long 
since faded and withered away. The shadows of the night 
spread over the valleys in which was situated the little 
village of York Mills, the harvester was wending his way 
home and the lights were shining from the windows of 
the humble cottages. We had to go but a little distance. 



A VISIT HOME. 49 

There was no bell to ring, no knocker upon the door of 
the humble little dwelling we were approaching, but 
inside there were rich treasures for me. After the door 
was opened we were invited to w^alk in. The first figure 
and face my eyes beheld (and I can see the picture now) 
was one that no artist can paint. It was the pale and 
care-worn face of my beloved mother. I trembled all 
over and had an almost uncontrollable desire to rush in 
and put my arms around her neck and kiss those dear 
lips I had hungered to see. 

I could not recognize any other face but that of my 
mother, as years had made great changes in my brothers 
and sisters. All were there but father; but not one 
of them recognized me. They gazed upon me with 
wonder, curious to know what the stranger wanted. 
I was dressed in the latest style of that day. I did not 
recognize my sister Kate until she arose from her chair 
to offer it to me. She had always been lame from 
a child. Then came the auspicious moment of introduction. 

The minister, in a low voice, said, ** Permit me to intro- 
duce to you a gentleman from Boston by the name 
of Jones." They bowed very kindly, and my sister Kate, 
who was my senior in years, came and shook hands with 
me, and looked steadily into my eyes and face, and 
I noticed the color change in her cheek. I managed, 
by strong will, to restrain the emotions of my heart, 
and remained silent, listening to the conversation of my 
mother and the minister in the Welsh language, which 
I had almost forgotten. 

He said to her, " Do you not know that man?" She 
replied, " No, I never saw him before." At her words my 
heart seemed to break all to pieces. I could not control 
myself any longer and sank down on my knees with my 
face in my hands, sobbing and weeping bitterly, to their. 



50 A VISIT HOME. 

great astonishment. Suddenly, by an uncontrollable im- 
pulse, I sprang up and threw my arms around my dear 
mother's neck, and in my native tongue said with a loud 
voice, which I could not restrain, ** Mother, I am your 
own boy, Robert." She then drew me to her bosom and 
kissed me again and again, seeming unwilling to let me 
go. And there were embraces, while tears of joy flowed 
from the eyes of brothers and sisters, who pressed around 
me and fell upon my neck, vying with each other to see 
who would caress me most, and show me that love they 
had always felt for their brother they had long since 
deemed lost to them forever. My sister Kate then said: 
*' I thought it was my own brother, Robert." I thereupon 
kissed her and all of them again, and my dear mother 
more than them all. It was a joyous time that night in 
that humble dwelling in York Mills. Father came home 
later on, and he seemed glad to see me, but he never had 
the love for me in his heart that my mother did. It was 
about twelve o'clock when the minister left us for his 
home. Before parting he closed the joyous occasion with 
prayer, although at that time my heart was far away from 
God. Yet I was glad I had returned to see them all once 
more. I remained only two days, and then retraced my 
steps to Utica, to the hotel and my work as clerk and 
barkeeper. I drank frequently all the time with my 
companions in sin and wickedness. Here I became ac- 
quainted with ex-Governor Seymour, also with Roscoe 
Conklin, who was then but a green country boy studying 
law, but who became so distinguished afterward. Here I 
met John Butterfield, the man who started the first ex- 
press train across the continent. 

I knew his sons also, and prepared them many a gin 
cocktail, and I always drank with them. I mention these 
persons as living at this time of my life, although many 



A VISIT HOME. 51 

of them are now on the other side; passed on and have 
given in their accounts. We are here to-day, but soon we 
will be in the great to-morrow. 

Time levels all things, we all have a tombstone before 
us, a hearse and an open grave. This record of my life 
will be read, may be, after I am gone, perchance many 
years hence. I pray that it may influence some one to 
turn from the evil of his ways, and seek that Savior whom 
I know is life everlasting, I remained in Utica about a 
year and a half, and then left for Syracuse, taking a posi- 
tion there as office man and barkeeper in the Exchange 
Hotel. After three months I returned to Utica and went 
on a great spree, drinking and carousing around the city, 
and not once visiting my mother, at York Mills, as I did 
not think I had time. The old Goliath, king alcohol, got 
hold of me, and all I did for a time was to drink, fight 
and gamble. 

I was now growing worse and worse all the time, losing 
all self-respect and restraint, even under the shadows of 
my mother's home, and almost within the sound of her 
prayers. I will mention one or two instances that 
occurred at this time, while I was in Utica, to show how 
low I had fallen, and the results of drinking and keeping 
bad company. My associates were both good and bad, 
and having some of my father's combativeness (for he was 
known in Wales as a fighter), I was quick and sudden in a 
quarrel, and never would give up unless I was well 
whipped. I fought with some noted roughs in the city. 
I will mention the names of some of them. Lou Dixon, 
a noted pugilist, who is dead, and has filled a drunkard's 
grave; Billy Harwood, whose blood stained the curbstone 
in front of the theater in Utica for many days; Thos. 
McElwain, brother of the chief of police, who was known 
as one of the worst characters in the city. He insulted 

4 



52 A VISIT HOME. 

my sister by calling her limpy Kate. I determined to 
kill him at the very first opportunity, as I was her cham- 
pion, and I determined to have vengeance on him. I 
deliberately walked into his saloon with a loaded cane 
prepared for the deadly work. I found him with his bar- 
keeper alone, and with one blow I tried to strike his head. 
He dodged and Providence prevented my becoming a 
murderer, for the head of the cane went through a green 
panel shade instead, which was smashed to pieces. 

He seized hold of me, and with the assistance of his 
barkeeper tried to gouge out my eyes with his thumbs. 
He had both arms around me, but I broke away from 
him, and having on my right hand a large, solid amethyst 
ring I made straight shots at his nose and cut him terribly 
with the ring, until his face became badly disfigured. He 
was a handsome man, but then his friends would hardly 
have known him, and he belonged to a good family. His 
brother, Robert McElwain, was chief of police of the city 
and was beloved by all who knew him. But I will draw 
the curtain upon such scenes as these, and would be glad 
if I could efface them from my memory forever, because 
I am not now what I was then, and I thank God for it. 
The great change that has been wrought in my life and 
character is by the influence of the Holy Spirit. I left 
Utica after this fracas with McElwain and returned to 
the old United States Hotel in Boston, where I had acted 
as bell boy. But before going I wanted to visit my dear 
aged mother once more, and went to York Mills to see 
her. We were invited to take tea and spend a part of 
the afternoon with the same old minister who had gone 
with me to my home on my first visit there. We had a 
very pleasant visit, but I could not speak Welsh very well 
and could not converse as I wished to. Bidding the min 
ister and his excellent family good-bye we started for our 



A VISIT HOME. 53 

home. I told her to lean on my arm for wc had a quarter 
of a mile to walk-. She talked with me about my future 
life, giving me admonition and advice such as none but a 
saintly and devoted mother could give to her boy whom 
she loved, and for whom she was w^illing to die in order 
to save. 

It was a beautiful moonlight night, the stars were 
shining brightly, and the moon seemed to glide along 
among the clouds which were so beautiful in their fleecy 
whiteness. Nature was in her loveliest garb, and every- 
thing w^as still in the little village as we approached the 
cottage that mother called her home. She being a little 
weary, we sat dow^n to rest a while by the garden gate 
facing the graveyard near by. She talked with me in her 
sweet voice about her approaching death, for she had an 
incurable disease and thought she could not live much 
longer. She said to me: " My boy, Robert, I want you to 
make me a promise before you go away to Boston; that is, 
to get ready to meet me in heaven, and God helping you to 
keep your brothers and sisters together after I am dead, 
for I am sure you and I will never meet again in this 
world, I shall be in the graveyard before you come again 
— pointing tow^ard it with her thin finger, which set my 
heart rapidly beating and brought tears to my eyes. I 
replied, with a sincere desire of heart and purpose to keep 
the promise at whatever it might cost me: *' I will, Mother; 
I will, God helping me." 

She kissed me and then we went into the house. The 
children were all in bed, except Kate; my father had also 
retired. My mother read a few words in the Bible, and 
then we knelt down and I said the prayer that she 
taught me in our old home in Wales. It was the last 
time I heard my mother pray. Her voice trembled 
and putting her hand on my head she offered a fervent 



54 A VISIT HOME. 

prayer that God would guide and bless me. The next 
morning came and it was the last time I saw my mother 
alive. 

I kissed her and the children good-bye, and with a sad 
heart started again to leave that loved spot where my 
heart lingered and where was then my greatest treasure — 
a mother's love. I never thought for a moment but that 
I should see her again. 




CHAPTER IX. 



SAD NEWS. 



I returned to Boston and after I had been thereabout 
a year, while I was attending to my usual duties, one day 
a telegram was handed me by the clerk of the hotel. I 
opened it with trembling hands and found it bore the 
sad news of my mother's death. It read: ''Mother is 
dead. Come." I was dazed, and began to weep. I 
could hardly believe it. '* Mother's dead! " The words 
went like a dagger to my heart, and I went to my room and 
wept. I read the telegram over and over again and again to 
assure myself it was no mistake, but I found it too true. 
I found on inquiry that the telegram had been delayed, 
but I took the first train for Utica, and arrived at York 
Mills about 6 o'clock in the evening, and saw as I entered 
the house the old rocking chair my mother used to sit in 
by the fireside, but it was empty. Mother had gone. 
She was not there. It seemed to me that everything in 
the house looked dull and gloomy, and that the lights 
burned dimly, and my heart was draped in mourning, 
sorrow and tears. Father wept, brothers and sisters wept, 
for it was the 'first time we had ever been together with- 
out mother. 

You may break, you may shatter, the vase if you will; 
But the scent of the roses will linger there still. 

There was the fragrance of the loving kindness of her 
heart lingering with us still, although she had gone and 

55 



56 SAD NEWS. 

was asleep in the grave. That evening after we had com- 
posed ourselves as best we could, submitting ourselves to 
the will of God, we all went into the graveyard, father, 
brother, and sister Kate, to the lonely spot where the 
remains of one we loved and who loved us began her long 
sleep, pillowed on the breast of mother earth, for her 
spirit had taken its flight with the angel of love to the 
sweet resting place of the Paradise of God, there to remain 
until the last trump shall sound on the Resurrection 
morning. 

I knelt down at that lonely grave and shed tears of 
remorse and repentance that I hadever grieved that faith- 
ful heart that so loved me, and I kissed the little violets, 
rosebuds and daisies that had been gathered by Vny sister 
Kate in sweet remembrance of her that was gone. She, 
like the flowers, had faded away from our sight, and was 
transplanted to bloom again by the side of the tree of 
life on the banks of the river that flows from the throne 
of God, in the Celestial City. 

For Christ says: " I am the way, and the truth and the 
life. He that believeth on me, though he were dead, yet 
shall he live again." 

I found that my mother had been dead two weeks, to 
my great sorrow and disappointment, when I arrived home. 
The telegram they sent had been delayed and had not 
reached me in time for the funeral. 

While I was at my mother's grave the remembrance 
of my promise made a year before to her came to me, 
that I would keep my brothers and sisters together. 

The last words my mother said to my sister Kate were 
these: '* Keep a good home for Robert;'' then she pointed 
her finger toward heaven while her face shone like an 
angel, and exclaimed *' I am going home. Glory to the 
Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost." 



SAD NEWS. 57 

She then fell asleep with a sweet heavenly expression 
on her face. Her exemplary Christian life and death is 
well remembered and often spoken of by her old neigh- 
bors and friends at York Mills to-day. Again I had to take 
leave of my home, father, brothers, and sisters Kate and 
Anna, and from that memorable spot in the little graveyard 
so sacred to my heart, for there lay one who had given 
me life and who had showered a thousand blessings upon 
me, unworthy as I was. 

She who had given me the last kiss and benediction, 
praying that God would keep and shield me from temp- 
tation and sin, I should now feel more than ever her 
blessing following me wherever I journeyed. 

Bidding them all good-bye I started for Utica, going 
from there to Albany, where I found employment in the 
old StanW'ix Hall, one of the best hotels in the city. I 
became the general clerk and barkeeper. E. L. Britton 
was the proprietor and is now living in Washington, D. C, 
connected with one of the hotels there. He was a very 
kind man to me, and although I w^as generally under the 
influence of liquor, yet he was always a gentleman. 



CHAPTER X. 

GAMBLING LIFE. 

I want now to refer to my gambling life. I drank 
more or less all the time despite my good resolutions, or 
my dying mother's prayer, for I had not the love of God 
in my heart sufficient to keep me from evil doing. I 
thought of Him as my mother's God, not mine. 

I was perfectly infatuated with the game of faro, that 
game of chance which has ruined so many men, both 
young and old. I had become acquainted with Deeply 
Dodge, one of the noted gamblers of that day, who was 
then quite an old man. No doubt the name will be famil- 
iar to many, even at the present time. 

I became an expert in faro, also in three card monte, 
having received lessons from the champion of that game, 
Adam Clark, of Buffalo. I made a trip to Washington, at 
this time the capital of our nation, to visit the great gam- 
bling palace of that celebrated pugilist, John Morrisy, 
who was a noted gambler as well as a congressman. I 
had met him before when I was Dr. Hunn's office boy, in 
Albany. 

In Washington I became acquainted at the faro bank 
and short card rooms, and was surprised to meet so many 
distinguished men, senators, lobbyists from nearly every 
state in the Union, who were winning or losing fortunes 
nearly every day, at the various games. 

The entrance to one of these gilded palaces of iniquity 
is guarded by colored servants, dressed in livery, who 

58 



GAMBLING LIFE. 59 

allow no one to pass in the wicket door who has not the 
password. Once inside it is like a king's palace in its 
splendor. Massive mirrors extend from the floor to the 
ceiling, gobelin tapestries, beautiful marble statuary and 
costly paintings of all descriptions, many from nude sub- 
jects, executed by the most celebrated artists of the world, 
the finest articles in art, rich velvet carpets, Turkish rugs 
from the Orient, cut glass decanters filled with the 
choicest of wines that would by their high sounding names 
disguise if it were possible their terrible effect, that of 
bringing a soul to the confines of hell, and the sufferings 
of the damned. There were elegant tables, brilliantly 
gilded ceilings that reflected costly chandeliers, until to 
my distorted imagination it seemed radically beautifully 
lighted. A delicious lunch was spread to all, consisting 
of oysters, lobsters, turkey, English pheasants — all the 
heart could wish, or an epicure crave, of which the great 
lawmakers of the land partook, who, themselves, broke 
the laws they had made and who frequented these places, 
going in and out under cover of the night. It is a sad 
commentary on some of those who represent the nation 
at Washington, who are merely intemperate political 
gamblers. 

It is high time that the great game of faro, which is 
a dead fraud, should be changed to a square deal between 
God and man, and the only way this can be done is to 
'' fear God," for this is the beginning of wisdom. 

And here I quote from one of the papers at Great 
Falls, Mont., the Great Falls Tribune, after its editor had 
heard one of my experience lectures entitled, " A Barrel 
of Whisky, or Whisky Is Good in Its Place," as follows: 
"The First M. E. Church was packed last night to listen 
to the story of ' Mother's Bible,' as told by Evangelist Wil- 
liams, who has been on the * turf ' for forty-eight years as a 



60 GAMBLING LIFE. 

gambler, pugilist and all-around sinner after Satan's own 
heart. It has been eleven years since he challenged King 
Faro with a 'stack of blues,' but since that time he has 
been industriously devoting his energies at play in the 
great faro game of life, in which his Satanic majesty is 
' dealer,' where human actions represent ' chips,' where 
Christ is the * case keeper ' and where God is the uni- 
versal 'lookout.' Souls are to be won or lost in this 
great game of life. 

'*It might be stated for the benefit of those who have 
never worshiped at the shrine of * King Faro,' that it is 
not the business of the ordinary earthly ' lookout ' to assist 
the * dealer' in losing any bets. It is different, however, in 
the universal ' bank ' of life, where souls are at stake, and 
where the omniscient 'Lookout' (?) divine is watching 
the game with a scrutiny that never tires. 

" Evangelist Williams is aware that the devil as ' dealer ' 
makes the most of the ' splits,' and plays a ' brace ' 
game when possible; he knows also that Christ has the 
' cases,' and that when the last 'deal' has been made, the 
' turn ' been called and the ' rack ' empty, it is then that 
the great ' Lookout ' of the universe smiles approv- 
ingly as the glad news is heralded in heaven that the 
devil has lost his ' bank,' is irretrievably ' broke,' and it 
has been approved by the supreme court of a new Eden. 

"After nearly half a century in 'bucking the tiger,' 
Evangelist Williams is desirous of giving the remainder 
of his life in aiding mankind to employ the most efficient 
methods of saving their souls, and in paralyzing the hand 
of Satan, who is continually making ' terms ' at the faro 
bank of human existence. The speaker believes that 
God's ' system ' alone can win in this faro game of life, 
and that all human action must be 'coppered' accord- 
ingly." 



CHAPTER XI. 



JOINS THE Y. M. C. A. 



From Washington, D. C, I went to Cape May, where 
I became acquainted with Harvey Cleveland, of Philadel- 
phia. He had a chateau or gambling cottage situated on 
a beautiful lawn by the seaside. He was an exceedingly 
affable gentleman, and kind hearted, as many of the 
gambling men are, and was considered a square dealer. 
He died, however, a very poor man, after a long life of 
gambling. He had in his lifetime won and lost great 
amounts of money. I also became acquainted with Joseph 
Hall, who is known by most of the sporting fraternity and 
turf men in America. He was at one time the owner and 
proprietor of forty-eight gambling houses in New York, 
where all kinds of games, great and small, could be 
played, from twenty-five cents up to hundreds of thou- 
sands of dollars. He married a beautiful dancer and 
actress, the daughter of Peter Inch, w^ho was secretary to 
Boss Tweed, that man who defrauded New York City of 
so many millions of dollars. Joseph Hall at this time 
owned the fastest team of horses in America. The last 
time I heard of him he was living with his son in Baltimore, 
having lost all his money. This ends the account of my 
association, for a time, with this class of men, with the 
exception of some I knew in Boston, viz., Robert Banks, a 
brother to Gen. N. P. Banks; Bill Mead, now in Buffalo, and 
Joe Brown, all of whom were at that time in the gambling 

61 



62 JOINS THE Y. M. C. A. 

ring in Boston. I returned to my hotel life and continued 
my drinking habits. After five or six months I became 
almost a raving maniac, and the authorities placed me in 
a strait-jacket, and put me behind the bars. 

When I became sober and was released from jail, I 
resolved within myself not to touch another glass of 
liquor as long as I lived. 

I thought by joining the Y. M. C. A. in Elliott street, 
which was the first society organized in America, that 
I could recover. I joined, and paying my yearly mem- 
bership fee became one among them — a member of their 
society. And here, by the kindness of many of its mem- 
bers, I was led to live a sober life and give my heart 
to God. I thought I was saved by my own will, and 
gave a testimony to that effect in public for the first 
time in my life. I thought I was ail right, and managed 
to keep sober all summer. That was the year that 
General Garfield was nominated for President of the 
United States, and, by the influence of a dear friend, 
who gave me a recommendation speaking of my con- 
nection with the Revere House, the U. S. Hotel, and 
the Albion, I became the manager of the Grand Pavilion 
at the famed Willows, near Salem, Mass. On the fourth 
day of July, our great opening day, we entertained twen- 
ty-five thousand people with clam chowder, oysters, lob- 
sters, and a general fish dinner. It was during this year 
that the Jubilee Building was erected in Boston. Toward 
the close of that summer I had some difficulty with the 
manager of the Pavilion, Mr. Goodall, who was also presi- 
dent of the company, and with whom I had made my 
contract. Our accounts did not agree, he refused to pay 
me and there was trouble. I had justice on my side, and 
was determined he should do as he had originally agreed, 
which he was at length obliged to do. This disagreeable 



JOINS THE Y. M. C. A. 63 

matter, and my anxiety about the result, drove me back 
to my besetting sin — drink. 

From one glass I soon drank to excess; my mind 
quickly succumbed and I was again like a raving maniac. 
1 soon left Boston, taking the train for Portland, Me., 
and in a roundabout way finally arrived in Utica, for 
I longed to see my sister Kate. I had stopped in Port- 
land a short time only, but had found even in that noted 
temperance town that beer and whisky could be easily 
obtained. So easily does Satan find means and ways 
to carry on his sinful work. 

Drug stores and even the custom house, which was 
under the management of Neal Dow, the great temper- 
ance man, kept liquors, although unknown to him. Here 
the authorities got after me again, and I was locked in 
the same cell in which Francis Murphy was incarcerated 
during his last drunken orgy. 

In the morning I was discharged after making the 
same promise he did, and by the help of God he was en- 
abled to keep his, but mine, God forgive me, I broke in 
less than one hour. 

I was burning up with thirst, craving, longing for it, 
trembling, and, to me it was either whisky or death. All 
this time I had a considerable amount of money about 
me and on the next day I took the train for Albany, stay- 
ing there over night only, and in the morning continued 
on to Utica, my old home, fully intending to visit my 
sister Kate, for we had always loved each other, although 
I was a wayward, unworthy subject for her love. In Utica, 
after an absence of three years, I met many of my old 
companions in sin. Bill Caltin, my old chum; Chet 
Stafford, a noted gambler in that town; Black Martin and 
many others who knew me when I was the bully of the 
town, and for several days I was saturated with that 



64 JOINS THE Y. M. C. A. 

which destroys both soul and body, I became delirious 
and I never could forget my sensations at that time. It 
seemed that thoughts of death were uppermost in my 
mind, and there was no hope for me. I was totally be- 
wildered and beside myself, and something said to me, 
'* Leave Utica." And it was not a human voice, it also 
added, ''Your life is in danger here.'* 



CHAPTER XII. 

A VISIT TO MY mother's GRAVE. 

About nine o'clock that night, as nearly as I can re- 
member, I started on foot to leave the town. It was a 
cold, drizzly, rainy night, with some snow. I was trying 
to get away from temptation and my wicked companions, 
but there was something more in it than that. I thought 
if I could only get to the burial place of my sainted 
mother, that the fiends and phantoms that were torment- 
ing me would leave me. But it was of no use; Satan, sor- 
row and death had taken hold of me. I tried to rise above 
my gloomy feelings, but could not. There was no help. 
I felt that I was damned. It was about twelve o'clock at 
night when I arrived at the little village. I could see no 
lights, and at the turn of the road near the city of the 
dead I stood for some time under a lamp post and com- 
muned with my own heart. I then climbed the little hill 
to the graveyard, the last resting place of my dear 
mother, where was once a little mound. Time had 
wrought its changes, and now it was only a little neglected 
hollow in the earth. I could see a few little daisies, and 
I kissed them, for they grew on the grave so dear to me. 
There seemed to be a spirit or influence around me that I 
could not define, whether good or bad, and it seemed to 
speak to me. 

I said, ** Cannot I, a poor, miserable drunkard, lay me 
down here by my mother's grave and rest and be no more 

65 



66 A VISIT TO MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

what I have been?" Something seemed to say to me, 
" Rest awhile with me." I was very tired, wet and cold, 
and I laid down upon the grave, thinking I could put my 
arms around my mother's neck. 

I forgot my anguish and the chills for awhile, and 
tried to pray the best I knew how for God to save me 
that hour from a drunkard's grave. 

I remained there nearly all of that dismal night, at 
times pacing up and down the grave, and I saw no worse 
spirit than my own. How thankful I am now, that my 
dear mother never saw her boy drunk. 

About five in the morning the rain and snow ceased 
and day began to dawn, and with many good resolutions 
for reform I left that spot fully determined, but in my 
own strength, to drink no more. But Oh, how frail and 
weak is the will of a drunkard. 

I found my family had moved away from York Mills 
to Wisconsin. I had no home there any more. Walking 
back to Utica on the tow path of the canal, I made many 
promises and resolutions, which I thought I could keep. 
But in less than an hour after I had arrived in the city 
they all vanished and fled, together with all thoughts of 
my dead mother. The vow was broken indeed, and my 
wicked appetite again placed the cup to the lips that 
had so often been pressed by those of my dead mother, 
which were now forever closed and cold in death. I 
remained in Utica a few days and then set forth for the 
west, drinking all the time. 

I arrived in Buffalo and found my brother William, 
who was living there with his family. 

I had not seen him for sixteen years. In the mean- 
time he had married and had two children, whom I 
learned to love. I decided to remain here for a time and 
recuperate a little if possible, but I continued to gamble 



A VISIT TO MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 67 

and made a great deal of money, and succeeded in keep- 
ing sober. But I learned to my sorrow that my brother 
loved the accursed drink. I went occasionally to Niagara 
Falls, to the Thousand Islands, Montreal and other places 
in Canada. I remained in Buffalo two years and lived 
like a king with my fast horses and everything of a 
worldly character. I had plenty of money, which I could 
always win by gambling. My brother was also of a 
sporting disposition, but could not be a professional like 
myself. In Buffalo I became acquainted with a beautiful 
woman, the widow of a Mr. Jordan, of Troy, N. Y., and, 
as birds of a feather flock together, we had a gay time. 
She finally left Buffalo for St. Louis in company with a 
very stylish young man, who was also a gambler and fond 
of fast horses. I learned of their address through my 
friend, Ed Hazard, who was a son of Captain Hazard, 
very well known in Buffalo. Ed was a sporting man like 
myself. 

Although he had a good father and mother, he spent 
all of his fortune in gambling, and when I heard of him 
last he was a beggar on the streets. The old saying had 
proved true in his case at least: *'The fool and his 
money are soon parted." I visited St. Louis six months 
after this lady and her friend had gone there, and I called 
upon them. We had some dispute together, which came 
near terminating in murder, but, as Providence overruled 
it, no blood was shed. They lived in a beautiful palace, 
but their pleasure was of short duration, as their fortune 
soon passed away. Her so-called husband became reck- 
less with drink and lost all the money he had. He took 
all her jewelry and diamonds and gambled them away, 
and at last left her and went to New Orleans, leaving her 
friendless, penniless, sick and alone. 

Learning that I was in the city, she sent for me to call 

5 



68 A VISIT TO MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. 

upon her, which I refused to do at first, but since she was 
sick and in need and at the point of death, I, with my 
friend Grant Duff, called to see her. A great change had 
come over her. Once she was the belle of Buffalo and 
had many admirers, but now her beauty had faded and I 
hardly recognized her. I asked if she needed any money 
and she said, '' No; I have enough furniture in the house 
to pay my funeral expenses, but I have one request to 
make of you, if you will grant it." I asked what it was. 
She replied: ''I want to be buried in a shroud you have 
purchased for me." I did not think she was going to die 
very soon, and said, laughingly, pointing to my friend, 
" Mr. Duff will send you a shroud if you need one, and it 
will be charged to me, but I expect to see you alive and 
well again." She replied, nervously, '* No; I must have it 
and I will make it with my own hands." 

We left her house, and soon after I went to Cincin- 
nati, not returning for some weeks, when I learned she 
had died and was buried in a shroud sent to her by Mr. 
Duff, and for his kindness to her I gave him a sum of 
money, not for the shroud but its equivalent. 

This verifies the truth that sin is a hard master, " and 
that our sins will soon find us out." 

" The wages of sin is death ;" that ** wide is the gate and 
broad is the way that leadeth unto death, and many there 
be that walk therein." 

That the pleasures of this world do not satisfy the 
soul, and they soon vanish away. '' But the gift of God 
is eternal life." '' Because strait is the gate and nar- 
row is the way which leadeth to eternal life, and few 
there be that find it." 



CHAPTER XIII. 



PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCES. 



To show the wonderful care that God has over those 
whom He loves and how He protects and guides them, 
directing their steps, and watching over them, I will relate 
a scene of horror of which nearly all the world knows, as 
it is without a parallel in the history of railroad disasters. 
-I refer to one that occurred at Ashtabula, O., some years 
ago, where so many noble lives were sacrificed, and among 
them the celebrated singer and evangelist, P. P. Bliss, and 
wife. Had it not been for a kind Providence I would 
have been among the number who went down in that ter- 
rible holocaust. I was in Buffalo at the time, and on the 
night of the calamity was to have taken that same train 
for Cleveland. It started at 9 o'clock. I had been out vis- 
iting Mrs. Stockley, a sister of my brother's wife, for two 
or three days, and had spent the time very pleasantly. In 
the evening a little company of friends had been invited 
to tea. Among them were the express messenger and 
fireman who belonged to the ill-fated train. I remained 
with the company after the other two gentlemen had 
gone, and continued on in the evening's entertainment, 
drinking, smoking and playing cards. At 8 o'clock I 
called for my satchel, and told them I was going down 
to the depot to take the train, as I had already purchased 
my ticket. But soon there came up a terrific snow storm, 
and Mrs. Stockley said: "Uncle Bob, you cannot go to- 
night, for it istoo stormy." But I said I must go, and took 

69 



70 PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCES. 

my satchel, cane and umbrella and started toward the door. 
Mrs. Stockley followed me and said: *' You are not 
in a condition to go out in this storm, I shall not allow you 
to go." And she took the satchel away from me, but I se- 
cured it, and again the second time she took it out of my 
hand, and this time kept it. 

I can now see God's hand in it. I was compelled to 
remain, for I had been drinking all day and was in no 
condition to buffet the storm or start on a journey. 

If I had not been forcibly detained, I should certainly 
have lost my life with all those poor unfortunate passen- 
gers on that doomed train. By the next day I was sober, 
and took the train for Cleveland. On arriving at Ashta- 
bula, the scene of the disaster, we were obliged to take 
the stage through the city to the opposite side, where we 
remained three hours before the train was ready to leave 
for the West. W^e looked on the wreck at the bottom of 
the gulf, also inside the tool house, where we saw many of 
the bodies of those who had perished lying about on the 
floor, distorted, disfigured, and in all manner of shapes. 
Here, too, was the body of the express messenger who had 
been drinking and carousing with me only the night before; 
and the body of the fireman also, who bade us good-bye 
so gayly only a few short hours before. The hotels in 
the city were filled with the friends and relatives who 
had come to look among the ruins and the wreck for 
their missing loved ones. I will now give an account 
of several hairbreadth escapes I have passed through, and 
it is owing to the mercy of God that I am spared to give 
this autobiography of my life which will show so plainly 
God's wonderful dealings toward me, unworthy as I was. 

On one occasion, when I was stopping at Allentown, 
Pa., I went to Slatington for the day to visit some of my 
country people. I had been drinking, as usual, and con- 



PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCES. 71 

sequently not able to walk straight. Had I been i'n my 
right mind, I should not have attempted walking home 
on the railroad. However, with the foolhardiness of a 
clouded intellect, I started with my hands in my pocket, 
and my eyes looking down toward the ground. I heard a 
voice say: '' The fast express is coming." I did not heed the 
warning, and continued on the track. All at once some- 
thing seized hold of my arm and giving me a sudden jerk, 
pulled me out of danger, and saved me from a drunkard's 
death — from hell itself. '' For no drunkard shall enter 
into the kingdom of heaven." At that moment the train 
passed me, the locomotive brushing my clothes as it 
passed. A young man had seen my danger and rushed 
to the rescue. He put his own life in jeopardy to save 
mine, a worthless drunkard. He was an angel of mercy, 
and God's hand was in it. 

Another of my hairbreadth escapes occurred when I 
was in New York, my old hunting ground of sin. One 
evening, in a saloon called the ''Three Horseshoes," which 
was located in Bleeker street, and kept by Harry Law- 
rence, a noted gambler from Chicago, I w^as stabbed in 
the mouth, which made a hole in my lip and knocked out 
three of my teeth. I next had an encounter, a regular 
rough-and-tumble fight, with Mike Trainor well known in 
New York, who kept a pugilistic school on Eighth avenue. 

I carry the marks of that affair to-day on my face, and 
will as long as I live. 

The next time I got into difficulty was when John 
Morrisy was running for senator. 

It was his last political campaign, for he died shortly 
afterward and never took his seat in the senate. I was 
electioneering for him. I always had a great admiration 
for a brave man, and hated, correspondingly, a coward. In 
electioneering for Morrisy in the Sixteenth Assembly dis- 



72 PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCES. 

trict, I became involved in a difficulty with some politicians 
and was struck in the forehead with a beer glass, which 
almost fractured my skull and left a scar w^hich can be 
seen to this day. After receiving this dangerous blow, 
which almost took my life, I found myself one morning in 
an old shed on the Hudson river, three miles from New 
York. How I came there I could not tell. I had been 
asleep, and was very weak from the loss of blood. I could 
hardly walk. Some one kindly helped me wash the blood 
from my face and directed me to the West End hospital, 
where I had the wound sewed up and dressed. The sur- 
geon advised me to go to the police headquarters and 
get permission to go to Bellevue hospital, for I had 
caught a severe cold and my eyes and head were badly 
swollen. They would not receive me there, but gave me 
a pass to go on the island. Here my name and residence 
were discovered, and my wife and mother-in-law saw it in 
the papers. They did not come to see me, however, nor 
did they make any inquiries. After remaining there two 
weeks I returned home, although scarcely able to walk or 
sit up. There I was taken with a violent fever, and for 
two months hovered on the brink of eternity, filled with 
forebodings, and out of my mind a good portion of the 
time. I was kindly cared for by my good wife and soon 
recovered. 

I married the daughter of Harriet H. Berry, who 
formerly resided in Saratoga, N. Y., and kept the old 
National hotel for some years, also Dr. Bedorthy's water 
cure. My wife was born in Bennington, Vt., which was 
the home of Jim Fisk, also. They had been schoolmates. 
She is kindly remembered among the poor and needy, 
both in New York and Chicago. We lived at No. 183 
West Eleventh street. New York, next door to the St. 
Vincent hospital. 



PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCES. 73 

I left New York and took my wife west to visit my 
people, who were then living in Watertown, Wis. Here 
my first and only child was born, a little untimely boy. 
God in His mercy claimed him early, ''for of such is the 
kingdom of heaven." It was a bitter blow to me, but I 
have learned since that time to say, *'Thy will be done," 
and not " mine." And now, dear reader, will you go with 
me out to the little Welsh graveyard, four miles from 
Watertown. The snow is deep, the ground frozen, the 
wind is cold and chilly. There is no minister to offer a 
prayer, no hearse, no funeral train, but in company with 
a long, long-tried friend, we hollowed out the little 
grave and laid the casket within. We then covered it 
over with earth. It was all that we could do, dust to dust 
and earth to earth. 

Dear little hands, I loved them so! 

And now they are lying under the snow — 

Under the snow, so cold and white 

I cannot see them, or touch them to-night. 

Dear little hands, when the Master shall call, 
I'll welcome the summons that comes to us all — 
For I know in a happier, heavenlier clime. 
Those dear little hands, I shall clasp some time. 

If I keep my eyes fixed on the heavenly gate. 
Over the river where white-robed ones wait, 
I shall know you, I'm sure, among those bright bands. 
For you beckon me ever, oh! dear little hands. 

I did not know how to pray, but that graveyard 
became a memorial place to me, for it was the casket of 
some of my precious jewels. My dear sister Kate, who 
was nearer and dearer than any of my brothers or sis- 
ters, and who used to say so often, ** dear brother, don't 
drink any more to-day," w^as the only one who had not 
discarded me. She held to God's promises, and con- 



74 PROVIDENTIAL DELIVERANCES. 

tinued to pray for me, and also that my mother's prayers 
might be answered. And here I give a few verses which 
I have written to the memory of one who used to say: 
'' Don't drink any more to-day." That was my sister Kate. 

Come, New Year, and strew pale roses around my sister's grave; 

Love's kisses, heart and hands 
Have ceased to say, O brother, dear brother, don't drink to-day. 

Sleep, dear sister, sleep; 

I have learned to say, 

God helping me, I will drink no more to-day. 

New Year, when thou art old. 
Thou, too, forgot shall be, to wake no more; 
Thy roses, thy violets, thy lilies so fair 
Shall sleep in thy shroud of the past, 
To return no more. 

Lord, help the poor drunkard to say 

(Sleep, dear mother, sleep); 
God has helped the drunkard to say — 

I'll drink no more to-dav. 

Sleep, dear father, sleep in thy narrow bed. 

Pillowed on thy mother earth. 

Till God's great sunlight shall melt thy mantle of frost and snow, 

And bring to bloom on thy grave, roses and violets and lilies, too. 

Spirit of the dead. 

Help the drunkard to say, 

I'll drink no more to-day. 

Sleep, dear brother, sleep, 

God has called thy spirit home. 
With father, mother, and sister, too; 

Pillowed 'neath thy earthly tomb, 
The trumpet shall sound, 

And the echo shall be, 
Glory to Jesus, 

We shall drink everm.ore of thee. 

Sleep, dear father, dear mother, brother, sister, I love, 

Spirit of God, help the drunkard to say, 

I'll drink no more from this blessed day. R. G. Williams. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



RETURN TO THE EAST. 



After a year I returned again to the east, leaving my 
wife behind in Wisconsin. I started again on a gambling 
tour, and visited Utica, my former home. I soon became 
completely under the power of Satan, contmuing at the 
bottle until I lost all self-respect, and there was no re- 
straint. I was soon filled with the cursed liquid. The 
time soon came when I felt drawn to visit that dearest 
spot on earth to me, my mother's grave. It was in early 
summer, about the time of harvest. The new mown hay 
filled the air with sweet perfume, and all nature seemed 
joyous and happy. I had started from a gambling house 
and saloon to walk to that sacred place, which was four 
miles from Utica, and as I wandered along on my journey 
different thoughts passed through my mind. Some of 
the time I was very sad, and then I would try to sing 
a song I had heard my mother sing so often : 

That a bird retains its note 
Tho' bondage chains its wings. 

My song was not a happy one, for I was saddes^ when 
I sang. I arrived at the graveyard about two o'clock in 
the night and entered the gate. I could see a change 
had taken place, for ten years had elapsed since my last 
visit there. On my right stood a tall, beautiful monu- 
ment, and looking at the inscription I saw it was the 
monument of Mr. Campbell, the millionaire; and on my 

75 



76 RETURN TO THE EAST. 

left I saw another monument equally as beautiful, a 
masterpiece of the sculptor's art. On it was the name of 
William Walcott, the founder of the great cotton mill at 
this place. These monuments pointed heavenward, where 
the spirits of those had gone whose bodies lay slumber- 
ing beneath them. 

The full moon shed its radiant light on all around me, 
and the stars vied with each other in brilliancy, which 
had an influence on my spirits and tended to make me 
more cheerful. My mother's grave lay between these two 
great monuments. It was only a little hollow in the 
ground now. There was a little stone at the head, and a 
few wild flowers and spears of grass growing on the grave. 
I thought as I looked at those tall monuments there and 
the little grave between them, of the words in God's 
book: 

'' The rich and the poor shall meet together, but the 
Lord is the maker of them all." When the grave shall 
give up the dead on the resurrection morning whose shall 
they be? The bride's jewels awakening in His likeness. 
Death levels all things, and the judgment day will prove 
all things. I lingered there until the morning dawned, 
my head resting on the earth for a pillow. My heart was 
disturbed by memories of the past and thoughts of the 
future. 

The kind, loving words of my mother and acts of kind- 
ness, the sound of her voice in prayer for me, I fancied I 
could hear, caused me to shed many tears. I called her 
name, '' Mother ! Mother ! " but there was no answer, save 
the gentle rustling of the leaves and the echo of my own 
voice. 

But daylight came, the moon had gone down in the 
west and the stars disappeared one by one. Gray streaks 
of the morning lighted up the eastern sky and little birds 



RETURN TO THE EAST. 77 

began to sing their morning songs. Brushing the tears 
from my eyes I prayed as best I could for my mother's 
God to guide and keep me, and looking at that sacred 
spot once more, not knowing but that it might be the last 
time I should ever see it, I said, '' Good-bye, dear mother," 
and again started down the lane toward that city which I 
had left only a few hours before, fully realizing that I was 
a sadder, and, I flattered myself, a wiser man, but it was 
not so, for I was again engulfed in the sea of dissipation. 
I had not yet learned to say, '' God helping me," I will 
drink no more to-day. I soon left Utica and went to Buf- 
falo, and visited my brother William. He was the super- 
intendent of the painting and papering department of the 
New York Central railroad. I was the means, in God's 
hands, of inducing him to remove to Wisconsin, where he 
met all of the members of the family then living except 
our brother John — my father, sister Kate, brother David 
and myself, together with several nephews and nieces. 
He had been absent from them nearly twenty years. 
This was the first-fruits of the promise I had made my 
mother to keep the family together. He located in Ocon- 
omowoc, the great Saratoga of the west, and lived there 
for many years, but was finally taken sick and died, leav- 
ing his excellent wife and a large family of children. 
Brother William was the first to be buried in the cemetery 
at Oconomowoc. He was a member of the Masonic 
order, a loving father, and died in the faith of his mother, 
for which we rejoice. His children are now passing away 
one by one. Jennie and Harvey are lying by his side, 
and a great marble slab marks their resting place to me, 
because I always loved my brothers and sisters. 

One night, being under the influence of liquor, I wan- 
dered out to my brother's grave and laid down and fell 
asleep. I was found by his son Harry, who kindly took 



78 . RETURN TO THE EAST. 

me, half crazed as I was, to his home. He now sleeps in 
death by his father's side. 

I will now take you, dear reader, with me to Detroit, 
Mich. In this city transpired some or the most thrilling 
incidents of my life. As was my usual custom I had made 
myself acquainted with the gambling fraternity immedi- 
ately on going there, my sin-loving nature always choos- 
ing them for companions wherever I went. Members of 
the brotherhood are to be found in all large cities, con- 
stantly plying their trade — that of beguiling the simple 
and unwary into their clutches and gambling dens. They 
are always on the lookout for new victims who can be 
enticed into their ruin, robbing them of their money, cor- 
rupting their morals, ruining their souls, and slowly, but 
surely dragging them down to destruction and death. The 
incidents I now relate occurred in the years 1861 and '62, 
in Detroit. 

I became the owner of some of the fastest horses in 
the city. One I called Brown Ned. He was a twenty- 
mile heat horse and, I had others, both pacing and trotting 
stock, which I had bought in Canada. Here I had two 
dangerous runaways. The first occurred in Windsor, 
across the river from Detroit, in company with a very 
dear friend, John Simpson Cox, who is now dead. At 
that time he was the paying teller of a branch of the 
Bank of Montreal, in Simcoe, Canada. I was driving two 
fast horses, a trotter and a pacer, called the Baccus Mares, 
which were owned by Daniel Conner, a livery man of 
Detroit. We had a race on the boulevard with another 
team. 

Our buggy came in collision with another party who 
was also driving there, and barely escaped with our lives. 
We came near being thrown over a steep precipice into 
the river. 



RETURN TO THE EAST. 79 

My friend was thrown out, his collar bone broken, 
and his arm dislocated. My upper lip was badly cut by 
my falling on the wheel, but on our return to the city I 
had the physician sew it up and it very soon healed. 

The buggy was broken and it cost me quite a sum for 
repairs. The next accident of the kind occurred one Sun- 
day evening while I was driving the same team, but I was 
under the influence of liquor. A great many people were 
then on their way to church and saw the accident, as I 
was going up Woodward avenue, in Detroit, at a rapid 
rate. 

I unintentionally drove into a deep ditch where 
repairs were being made in the street. The horses were 
thrown violently upon each other and I on top of them. 
The owner of the team happened just at that -time 
to pass by and helped me out of my difficulty. 

But he began to curse and swear at me most emphat- 
ically for they were a very fine team and he feared they 
were ruined. Fortunately for both man and beast they 
were uninjured, but I had a bill to pay w^ith a gambler's 
money. He said I should never have another team that 
he owned. 

In the latter part of 1861 I was drinking with some of 
my old friends, John Cox and '' Sporting Tom," Galliger, 
and '' Big Headed Riley," and the Chappel brothers, all 
of whom are novv^ dead. 

After a long debauch I crossed over into Canada to 
Windsor. On my return to Detroit I found a statement 
in the morning papers that Bob Williams was drowned, 
for they had found the hat he w^ore in an alley near the 
river. In a few days, however, I again made my appear- 
ance on the scene and they found that Bob Williams was 
still in the land of the living, but, sad to relate, had been 
dead drunk. 



80 RETURN TO THE EAST. 

At this time I lost very heavily at the gambling table, 
and my money was soon gone. I was so reduced I had 
to pawn my watch, then my diamond ring, next my ivory 
handle derringer pistol, and lastly, even my clothing, 
reserving only what I had on. 

I continued under the influence of liquor. In pawning 
my pistol I had completely forgotten it was loaded. The 
pawnbroker was examining it very critically, and as he 
pulled the trigger it was discharged and the bullet struck 
me in my thigh, having gone through the lapel and the 
lining of my thick chinchilla overcoat, and four months 
afterward, when my sister Kate was cleaning the coat, she 
found the bullet lodged in its skirt. 

I realized after all of these experiences and hair- 
breadth escapes that there was a higher power watching 
over me than I had as yet acknowledged even to myself, 
and that my life in being miraculously preserved so many 
times, God was protecting me for some greater purpose 
than had as yet been revealed to me. 

I feel assured now that God, in His love and merciful 
kindness in not taking me while living a life of sin, pre- 
served and saved me to tell the story of "Jesus and His 
love." Blessed be His holy name forever. 




CHAPTER XV. 

A SAD JOURNEY. 

I wish to give here a short account of the first visit of 
my father and mother to Buffalo. It was for the purpose 
of searching for their lost boy Robert. 

They came by stage from Kingston, a distance of 
twenty-five miles, bringing their furniture with them. 
They were decoyed there into a place called the 
" Terrace " by some emigrant agents, where the old chest 
which they had brought from Wales was broken open 
and its contents stolen. 

It contained bed clothing and many other valuable 
articles, including the old family Bible, which, taken also, 
contained all of the family records, births, deaths, mar- 
riages, etc., and was of great value to the family. 

My father was a stranger in the city and could not 
speak the English language, consequently did not take 
any steps to recover the stolen articles. 

They returned again to Canada, not having found their 
missing son. They were disappointed, broken hearted 
and without any money. 

When they arrived at Lewiston the kind-hearted cap- 
tain with whom they came gave them a free passage 
back, where they remained three years longer, after 
which they removed to the United States and located at 
York Mills near Utica, in the state of New York. After 
the death of my mother, father married again, but his 

81 



82 A SAD JOURNEY. 

wife was not kind to the children and drove them all 
away from home. 

My little brother Tommy, learning that I was con- 
nected with a hotel in New York, came to the city and 
walked the streets night and day hunting for me. He 
slept in a dry goods box at night. 

At last he found a home on board the sloop Sea Bird, 
sailing between New York and Newbern, N. C. The 
captain taught him many things, the most important 
being mathematics and navigation. 

Sister Kate wrote me that I could find Tommy by 
inquiring of Jones, Smith & Co., the Stoney Brook mill- 
ionaires of Long Island. I did so, and finally found him. 
I had not seen him for many years. I was about starting 
to Wisconsin, and induced him to leave the ship and go 
with me, which he gladly did. And there at Watertown 
we met all of the family then living. I had kept my 
promise to my mother, thus far. I bought Tommy a 
horse and sent him to school until the breaking out of the 
war, when he went south and shipped on the rebel ram 
Merrimac, commanded by his old friend Captain Carroll 
of the sloop Sea Bird. He served three years in the rebel 
army, was captured several times by the Union army, but 
always made his escape. He took part in many engage- 
ments during the war, but never received a wound. 

Some time after my mother's death, my father made 
arrangements with a Mr. Lightbody, a fruit canning man- 
ufacturer, to take my youngest sister Annie until she be- 
came of age. This gentleman moved to Iowa and settled 
on a farm. She wrote to my father, after having been 
there a number of years, saying she was ill treated and 
was sick, that she was almost blind, having cataract on 
her eyes, and asked him to send for her. I accidentally 
found her letter, and resolved to go and bring her home, 



A SAD JOURNEY. 83 

which I did. I went to Iowa, to the little village of 
Columbia, and I found her living with a family by the 
name of Stewart, who were kind Christian people. My 
sister had left the place where she had been living and 
was treated so unkindly. She was delighted to see me, 
and glad that I had come to take her away. Mrs. Stew- 
art lent her a cloak until we reached Chicago, when I re- 
turned it by express with our thanks. 

I then purchased a handsome outfit for her, so she 
would be presentable to my friends in Watertown where 
we were going, all of which I purchased by money I had 
made in gambling. It made me feel easier that I had so 
far kept my promise to my mother, for now the last but 
one of the scattered family was on her way to sister 
Kate's home. 

Our father's house was not a home to us, although he 
lived next farm to my sister. Here sister Annie re- 
mained until her marriage. 

Her eyesight was restored by an oculist in Milwau- 
kee and her general health was greatly improved. She 
married a young man by the name of Robert Lewis, who 
was a kind and loving husband. She has one daughter 
living, several other children having died, their remains 
were laid in the family burying ground where our father 
was also buried. 

My niece is a lovely young lady, a consecrated Chris- 
tian, and a member of the First Congregational Church 
in Watertown. Her husband's name is Woodard. She was 
happily married to the son of worthy Christian parents. 
He is one of the firm of Woodard & Stone, cracker manu- 
facturers, so w^ell known in the west. 

After spending so long a time and so much labor, in 
searching and by correspondence I finally succeeded in 
getting all of the family together but one. Brother John 



84 A SAD JOURNEY. 

wandered away to the Pacific coast in the year 1850, dur- 
ing the great gold excitement to seek his fortune. Still 
remembering my promise to my mother to keep the fam- 
ily together, I laid the matter before God when alone in 
my room, for this was after my conversion. I had no 
knowledge whatever of his location or residence. 

I prayed from a sincere heart that if brother John was 
living and unsaved, that I might find him, no matter 
where he might be, and that I might be the means in 
God's hands of bringing him to Christ, to acknowledge 
his sins at the foot of the cross. 




CHAPTER XVI. 



A BUSINESS ENTERPRISE. 



Being in Chicago some time in the year 1870, I started 
the first fifteen cent dining room that was opened west of 
New York at No. 183 Randolph street. The cooking w^as 
all home made, and I was very successful in that line of 
business. 

My partner was Mr. D. C. Thatcher, who finally sold 
out his interest to me, and later on I took his brother 
Frank in his place. He is now dead. 

We succeeded for a while, but opposition and reverses 
came, and both of us being addicted to drink, we lost 
money and sold the restaurant to a Mr. Chamberlain, 
which gave us some money, and we concluded to gamble 
to see who should pay the debts of the concern. We did 
so, playing the best three out of five at euchre. I won 
the games and he had to pay the debts. 

Next door to our place of business was located the 
Pierce livery stable, where Molly Trussel shot and killed 
her paramour, Mr. Trussel. She was sentenced to prison, 
but was afterward pardoned by the governor of the state. 

The celebrated fast running horse, Dexter, was kept 
at this stable, owned by Mr. Trussel, but was sold to 
Robert Bonner, of New York Ledger fame, for gioo,ooo. 
I associated at this time in Chicago with some of the 
noted sports, Barney Nellis, Mike McDonald, and others 
whom I have not seen for years. Two years after this, in 

85 



86 A BUSINESS ENTERPRISE. 

1872, when I came back from Wisconsin, I began to drink 
with some of my old chums, and became wild and 
unmanageable. 

I found myself one extremely cold night, near the 
stock yards, drinking and reveling with some of my own 
country people, one of them being my own namesake, 
R. G. Williams. 

I went from one saloon to another until all my money 
was gone. I then pawned my rings, breastpin, watch and 
chain, and finally my beaver overcoat, which I sold for a 
few dollars in order to satisfy the terrible craving thirst 
I had for whisky. After all my money was gone, the 
saloon keepers, even my own people, had no more use for 
me, and they kicked me out of the door into the street. 
I was found about daylight the next morning by a kind- 
hearted officer. I had a big cut on my head, which had 
been done by a sling shot, and the beautiful snow was all 
spotted with blood which came from the wound. 

This shows the heartlessness of these agents of hell, 
the saloon keepers, who entice the poor drunkard into 
the traps they set for him by offering free lunches, and 
after getting all of his money, clothes, jew^elry and after 
destroying his character, they will throw him into the 
street. 

Yet they are licensed to transact their nefarious busi- 
ness, and cities and corporations receive the money and 
use it in conducting the affairs of the city, thereby be- 
coming partners in crime, and by so doing justify their 
acts. 

When will this, the greatest of all curses, cease? In 
this so-called Christian nation, with all of the churches 
throughout the land with their steeples pointing heaven- 
ward, and all of the pastors in the pulpits and praying 
men and women in the pews, can it not be stopped? Is 



A BUSINESS ENTERPRISE. 87 

there no God in Israel? Are His ears closed to the wails 
of the fatherless and the orphan? Does He not hear the 
widow's cry, as she gathers her little children around her 
to divide the last crust she has to offer them? Does He 
not sympathize with the poor drunkard, as Christ did with 
the man coming out of the tombs having a legion of 
devils, as He sees him struggling with a demon that the 
saloon keepers have kindled in his breast? If the pastors 
in all of our churches and all the Christian people would 
unite as one, and like Elijah on Mount Carmel, call upon 
God to put down this cursed evil, it would be done. And 
may God hasten that day. 

The policeman put me into a van and took me before 
a magistrate, and I can remember his words to this day. 
He spoke to me very kindly, and advised me not to 
touch the accursed stuff any more, and said to the 
ofificer: *'I knew Mr. Williams when he was a gentle- 
man, and one of the best hotel men in the country. He 
can go free." I was delighted that I did not have to go 
to the bridewell. 

The law is good and is often administered by kind- 
hearted men, and in many instances the officers of the 
law have assisted and befriended me when no one else 
did. 

I w^ent to Watertown again and settled there for a 
time with my wife, and, having some thoroughbred 
fast horses I enjoyed driving them, but did not gamble 
there as I had great respect for my sister Kate and her 
wishes. I took a cottage in the country and drove to 
town every day or two. But I continued to drink and 
paint the town red, as the saying is. In one of my drink- 
ing sprees I gave my fast horse and buggy to one of my 
neighbors, but my wife afterward reclaimed the property. 
Through the kindness of a livery stable keeper, Mr. 



88 A BUSINESS ENTERPRISE. 

Humphrey, I was sent home, but the horse was locked 
up in the barn. 

After getting a little sober at home, in a few^ days I 
returned to town again and drank harder than ever, as I 
had more money than brains. I had recently received 
one thousand dollars from Chicago, and in two weeks 
I spent two hundred dollars of it for drink. I became 
very unruly and lost all control of myself, became reck- 
less and delirious, insomuch that the city marshal had to 
take me in hand, although he had drank with me, and I 
was taken before the judge for violating the city ordinance. 

He sent me to the county prison for ten days, or pay a 
fine of sixteen dollars. I went with the officer to the jail and 
there found the sheriff, one of my most particular friends. 
He seeing me there told the officer to take me back to the 
city for he would not lock me up in a cell. I asked him 
to let me stay, for I wanted to get away from the demon 
drink. My conscience was troubling me, tor it was not 
quite clear in my mind what I had been doing. The 
sheriff said he would resign his office before he would 
lock me up, and with his big heart in sympathy for me, 
made me a deputy sheriff and gave me the freedom of 
the city, so that I could do what 1 pleased, but that I was 
not to get drunk. 

His excellent wife and daughters entertained me with 
music and singing and I sat at his table for ten days and 
did not drink. I honored him because he had done me 
such an act of kindness, one I shall never forget. 

A few days after my return to the city I started out 
on another spree. For days it was nothing but drink, 
drink, drink, which I am well aware is a sad commentary 
on my strength of character. But, dear reader, I had no 
will power left. It was entirely swallowed up, drowned 
completely in the maelstrom of my wicked appetite for 



A BUSINESS ENTERPRISE. 89 

the accursed drink. I soon realized I had lost my money. 
Where could it have gone? I had been in possession of 
eight hundred dollars before this drinking spree began. 

After a long search I finally found it in the pantry 
where I kept my liquors. For I always had a supply of 
different kinds of drinks on hand for my own private use 
as well as to treat my friends. 

I had made forty-two gallons of a very excellent 
quality of cherry brandy, which w^as stored in the cellar. 
How^ much to be regretted is the habit of so many of our 
people, especially those from the old country, when re- 
freshment is to be offered to their friends it must be 
wine. Children will learn to love it, and bad habits are 
thus formed in early youth w^hich can never be wholly 
removed until it is done by the cleansing power of the 
blood of Christ. 



CHAPTER XVIL 



LEAVE WISCONSIN. 



But to return to my narrative. 

I concluded to leave Watertown. I sold off all my pos- 
sessions, horses, buggies, everything except my favorite 
dog, cat, piano, my wife, and my wearing apparel. 

Bidding my friends and relatives farewell, we started 
for New York. We stopped on our way in the different 
cities, I continually drinking, as was my custom. We 
were eleven weeks in reachingour destination, and by that 
time I had only $390 left from the money I received in 
the sale of our effects. We went to the home of my 
mother-in-law in New York, and I had not been in the 
city two weeks before the balance of my money was gone. 

I had to pawn my silk umbrella, my meerschaum pipe, 
and I did not have one cent left. I was penniless. 

That is what the love for strong drink will do for a 
man. It robs him of everything, character, health, 
respect, business, prosperity, friends, society, home, and 
all the blessings of life and drags his body down to an 
untimely grave, and his soul down to hell. '' For no 
drunkard can inherit the Kingdom of Heaven." 

I had some so-called friends in the city of New York 
who regarded the condition of my finances lightly. One 
of these special friends was a Hebrew, by the name of 
S. S. Wolf, a tobacco merchant. He gave me money and 
set me up in business. 

90 



LEAVE WISCONSIN. 91 

He proved by his acts to be the Hebrew of the 
Hebrews, and a true friend, and is the same to this day. 
God bless him. He is at the present time one of the lead- 
ing merchants of Saratoga, and is a very wealthy man. 
I think God did bless him for his kindness to me. 

I continued to drink at intervals until the phantoms of 
hell were again haunting me night and day, and, dear 
reader, this is no vagary of my mind. I devoutly pray 
that God in His mercy will prevent and keep all who may 
read these lines from the accursed cup. 

It is no idle tale that I am telling, these seasons of 
heart and soul anguish. I would I did not need to pub- 
lish to the world such scenes as I have already passed 
through, but I must be a faithful scribe for the benefit 
of young men and all to whom I relate these experiences 
of my life, thinking they may be as w^ay marks and guide 
posts along life's road to turn the feet of any who will be 
warned from the pitfalls and quicksands, and those death- 
traps to the soul — the saloons — those gilded entrances to 
hell, that are licensed by the laws of the land to do their 
deadly work. My case is not an isolated one. Victims 
of the accursed drink are numbered by the millions all 
over our fair country, and they suffer the torments of hell, 
according to the amount they drink, and the depth of sin 
to which they go. 

Scores will testify as they read these pages to the truth 
of what I am saying, as the experience of all drunkards is 
the same the world over, and differ only in intensity. 

The system becomes saturated, the blood poisoned, 
the nerves paralyzed, the brain fired with the burning 
liquid, and man becomes transformed into a demon and 
suffers the torments of the damned. 

Are not our church members, pastors and Christian 
people responsible f ^r this state of things? Or will we 



92 LEAVE WISCONSIN. 

have to wait until God raises up another Elijah, or a 
Deborah, a Barak, or a Gideon, who will go out in their 
strength and kill that giant sin and stay this deadly traffic 
in souls by the monster intemperance. 

I was becoming very ugly and uncontrollable in the 
house, and my mother-in-law sent for a particular friend 
of mine, whom she thought would influence me for the 
better, a Mr. Isaac P. Chamberlain, then auditor of the 
Hudson River railroad. He had known me from a boy, 
and many times had loaned me money and given me 
passes on the road. 

He came to see me at her request, and remained with 
me all night, for I had determined to throw myself down 
from the top of the house in order to end my life of tor- 
ment. 

The only way to prevent me from doing so was to 
humor me, which he did by sending to Park & Tilford's 
for two bottles of English brown sherry, one of the most 
expensive drinks. Soon afterward, and toward morning, 
he left me asleep. 

I did not meet him again for upward of a year. It 
was under the following circumstances: 

I owned a very valuable dog, a cross between a St. 
Bernard and a deerhound. I called him Prince. He was 
my traveling companion for years, and I loved him. One 
day, to my sorrow, he died. I sent his skin to a taxi- 
dermist to have it stuffed. It cost quite a large amount, 
but it was very handsome and perfectly life like. 

I had it placed in the large hall. Some time later, 
when I was again on one of my violent sprees, I decided 
I would take my dog and go out west on a deer hunting 
expedition. I sent my servant to a large livery stable 
not far from the house and ordered two carriages, one for 
myself and another for the dog. 



LEAVE WISCONSIN. 93 

On their arrival I ordered the driver to put the dog 
into one of the carriages and I jumped into the other. I 
then ordered him to drive down to the Albany boat land- 
ing. My wife and mother-in-law both cried, but nothing 
they could do then could stop me. I was perfectly beside 
myself. I told the driver to hurry up and we started. 
My wife sent a messenger to the office of Mr. Chamber- 
lain entreating him to go immediately to the boat and 
try, if he possibly could, to persuade me to return home 
again. 

He at once drove rapidly down to the boat and found 
me at the bar drinking heavily, dressed in my hunt- 
ing suit and all prepared for a long absence. My dead 
dog was in the baggage room in charge of the baggage 
master, who w^as to keep and feed him until we arrived at 
Albany, for which service I paid him two dollars and 
fifty cents. 

Mr. Chamberlain was a little too sharp for me, for he 
invited me to go on the dock, saying he had some friends 
in one of the hotels to whom he wished to introduce me. 
I went with him and we drank together until after the 
boat started, for I had forgotten all about the dog and 
the contemplated journey. 

He succeeded in getting me back to the house, and 
then telegraphed to Albany for the dog, which was 
finally returned after two weeks had passed, none the 
worse for his trip. 

Mr. Chamberlain is now dead, but lives in the memory 
of those who knew him best and whom he had befriended. 
He never said '' No " to me. I love to think of him 
as one who did what he could to turn my feet from 
a drunkard's path to one of life and peace. He is gone, 
but /still live by the mercy of God, and shall ever cherish 
his memory for all his kindness to me. 



94 LEAVE WISCONSIN. 

Mr. Chamberlain's widow and one lovely daughter 
survive him, and are blessed with ample means to con- 
tinue their good works, for he died a millionaire. At his 
death he was the controller of the N. Y. C. R. R., and 
was what is called a self-made man. 




CHAPTER XVIII. 

ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGHT. 

And now, dear reader, I have completed this narra- 
tive of my eventful life, which had been so wicked and 
so sinful up to the time that I was converted. A life 
of forty-eight years spent in sin, as a wanderer and 
as a hotel man, gambler, theater actor and drunkard. 
All of these terrible years I was a curse to myself and to 
the world, having taken the. straight road to perdition, 
going down, down, down. 

Had it not been for the prayers of my sainted mother, 
I would, no doubt, have been cut off and cast away, and 
at this present time my remains would be lying in an 
unknown grave. 

It is a part of my life that I would have preferred for- 
ever blotted out of my memory. I have had a bitter, 
shameful experience that time and again has pained me 
to relate, knowing that so many of my old friends would 
read it. I present it to the world in the name of Him 
whom I now serve, hoping it will be a warning to all who 
'* look upon the wine when it is red, for at last it biteth 
like a serpent and stingeth like an adder." 

. If my experience can be the means of preventing one 
who. will read these lines from the bitter experience I 
have had, or from his tasting the poisonous cup, and 
thus keep him from a life of sin, I shall be rewarded for 
what I have done in publishing this story of my life 

95 



96 ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGHT. 

The great change that took place in my heart and life, 
from my human nature's darkness into the marvelous 
light of the gospel of Christ, that now fills my soul, I call 
the transformation scene. A change from my old ways 
and habits of drinking, my old associates in sin and 
gambling, and from all that was terrible and wicked in 
the sight of God and man, to a new life in the service of 
Him which has brought me gladness of heart; has taken 
away the desire for strong drink, giving me a love for the 
word of God; has put a new song into my mouth, and a 
peace that passeth understanding. 

This great change in my life was brought about by a 
good Christian lady in God's hands by the name of Miss 
Delia Crane, a city missionary of the Second Presby- 
terian church in Newark, N. J. 

I had been incarcerated in jail there for misconduct 
while under the influence of liquor. My cell being 
No. 32. 

Miss Crane came to me with the word of God in her 
hands, and read to me from the tenth chapter of Romans, 
the seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth verses, and then 
prayed with me, and for me. 

Like lightning down from the great throne of God, 
the fountain of light, those words descended into my 
heart and found lodgment there, cleansing me from sin, 
and made me a new creature in Christ Jesus. 

I felt that my sins were forgiven, and I believed in 
Him who came to seek and to save that which was lost, 
and that most emphatically meant me. As she read to 
me I fell down on my knees, then and there, in that cell, 
and asked God to forgive, and entreated Him to save me 
from going down to death under the bondage of sin. 

He heard our prayers, and suddenly I felt that a 
change had come upon me, and I rejoiced in God's mercy. 



> 



> 

7^ 




ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGHT. 97 

I experienced a change in my heart that I had never felt 
before, and I was happy. 

I resolved to serve Him to the end of my days, who 
had thus kindly and lovingly saved me, and I resolved to 
do all the good in my power, and to try to be the instru- 
ment in His hands of saving others who, like myself, had 
wandered away into darkness and sin. 

I then began to pity the drunkard, the gambler and 
the many prodigal sons. It was a wonderful change 
that came over me, and I regard that old prison cell in 
Newark with the greatest veneration and sacredness, for 
there the Lord came to me. I was released from the 
chains with which Satan had bound and kept me impris- 
oned for forty-eight years in sin and wickedness. 

I went out of the prison a free man, rejoicing in the 
Lord. The appetite for strong drink had been taken 
away and I had no desire to go into a saloon. They 
were no temptation to me now, I was born anew. I had 
something better. What I once loved I now hated. 

I went out from the prison with a light heart and 
walked up to the top of Orange Mountain, near by the 
city, and there consecrated my life to the service of God. 
From there I went to New York, where I had a friend by 
the name of Lewis Williams, although he was not related 
to me. He w^as a Christian gentleman and a member of 
the old Bedford Street Baptist church. 

He gave me the position of night watchman of the 
building. While here I had an opportunity, the first one 
in my life, of bringing a soul to Christ, which gave me 
great joy of heart. 

He was a poor refugee from justice, but had a good 
mother and sister who loved and cared for him. One 
evening, about eight o'clock, as I w^as standing in front of 
Earl's hotel, on Canal street, I saw a man picking cold 



98 ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGHT. 

meats out of an old ash barrel on the opposite side of the 
street. My heart was touched with pity as I looked at 
him, for I had been hungry myself, although I never had 
to satisfy myself in just that way. I crossed the street and 
asked him to come over to the building where I was 
stopping. 

He was afraid at first, but finally came, and I gave 
him plenty to eat and spoke to him about his soul. I 
gave him a little history of my life, and that brought us 
closer together. I asked him if he would not give his 
heart to the Lord, and quoted the verses that the lady 
had given me in the prison. 

He was silent for a moment, then, as if the fountain of 
his heart had been opened, he told me, with tears in his 
eyes, about his mother and sister in Delaware; that he was 
running away from justice, and that he was perfectly 
willing to submit himself to the Lord, which he did then, 
and I put my arms around his neck, and asked him to 
pray the publican's prayer. He did so, and the Lord 
heard him. He gave his first testimony the next evening 
at the Brown Street Tabernacle, which was then my church 
home, and he was cared for by the Reverend Dooly, the 
pastor of the church. The next day this young man 
found work, and after laying up a little money, he left 
New York for Connecticut, a new man. It gave me great 
joy to think I had been permitted to bring one soul to 
Christ. 

It was at this old tabernacle in New York where I 
had the first opportunity of standing in the pulpit to 
preach Christ, two months after my conversion. It was 
on a Sabbath night, and there was a large congregation, I 
told them of my life of sin and of my conversion in the 
old city prison at Newark, in cell No. 32, through the 
kindness of that godly woman. Miss Crane, and the influ- 



ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGHT. 99 

ence of the Holy Spirit upon me. *' Go ye into the byways 
and hedges;" ''carry the gospel to the poor." 

If the members of our various churches would do as 
they are commanded, seek out the lost and fallen visit 
the jails and prisons, speak kind words to the erring whom 
they meet so often, they would preach the gospel in so 
doing, and save many from a life of sin. 

I began my gospel work on Bleeker street, in New 
York, in the Florence Crittenden Mission, which now has 
its branches in so many of the larger cities of the United 
States, having been established as a memorial to his lit- 
tle daughter, by Mr. Crittenden, for the purpose of saving 
young girls from lives of sin and shame, and to lift up the 
fallen sisterhood of his darling child. May God bless 
his labors. 

I must here express my great admiration and sym- 
pathy as well as co-operation in this life-saving work, 
this double ministry to bodies as well as souls diseased, and 
thereby saving them from sin, degradation and death. 

How thankful ought all Christian people to be that 
we have the Florence Crittenden Missions. How brill- 
iant with the jew^els of souls saved must be the crown of 
that angel child. 

Women and girls, and whoever read this book, I say 
to you, d/ess the name of Florence Crittenden, and send up 
to the throne of God a prayer for the continued success 
of this particular mission work throughout the land. 

At this time I commenced my labors in the mission 
under the supervision of Mrs. Prindle, one of those 
loving saint-like mothers in Israel to whom the hearts of 
young girls would open, as flowers open to the warm rays 
of the sympathizing sun. It was my pleasure to labor 
here without remuneration for nearly two years. I had 
plenty of money which I had saved from my salary 

7 



100 ELEVEN YEARS IN THE LIGHT. 

while a steward at the Fountain House, Waukesha, Wis., 
also while at the Long Branch hotel. This house was 
kept by Lewis Leland, Esq., one of that family so well 
known from the Atlantic to the Pacific as proprietors 
and managers of so many hotels established in different 
parts of the country, all being popular with the traveling 
public. 

Mr. Lewis Leland was manager of the hotel by the 
same name in Chicago, where I was engaged as steward. 
He was converted, as I trust, through my feeble instru- 
mentality, and the assistance of Brother and Sister Marks, 
who had charge of the Bethesda Mission on South Clark 
street. 

They also rendered much valuable service at the hotel 
in the conversion o'f Judge Mattison, the old silver miner 
of Mexico, who was a friend of Mr. Leeland, and had once 
been very wealthy, but had succumbed to drink and lost 
all of his property. There was also a Mr. Oliver, a com- 
mercial traveler from Philadelphia, who attempted to 
commit suicide at the Leland hotel. He was converted 
through our efforts. We prayed with each of them, hold- 
ing the meetings in one of the rooms. A Mr. Major, from 
Brooklyn, who was staying at the hotel, was also con- 
verted at that time. 

I often attended the Bethesda Mission, at No. 406 
South Clark street, one of the worst localities in the city, 
under the superintendence of Mrs. E. S. Marks, who was 
appointed by the ladies of the Central W. C. T. U. I 
shall never forget the interesting meetings and scenes I 
saw there. At one time as I entered the room I saw a 
number of men kneeling at the altar and Mrs. Marks 
teaching them to pray. 

Many were converted at this mission. I was encour- 
aged and helped in my work by this kind Christian lady. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



MISSION WORK IN NEW YORK. 



A short time after this I visited New York, and con- 
tinued my mission work in the slums and in the by-ways 
of that wicked city. 

I will relate some of my experiences while in that 
place doing my Master's bidding. Will you go with me 
into one of the low places on the Bowery and witness the 
picture spread out before us? 

The first scene is laid out in one of the old lodging 
house dining rooms. We will go down this pair of old, 
rickety stairs at the side of the Rising Sun saloon, near 
Cooper institute, and entering we find what is called a 
hash house. 

It is in the cellar. A dingy, dirty place. One small 
lamp sheds its dim light, casting long, ghostly shadows 
here and there. An old table and a few chairs are all the 
furniture to be seen. A few broken dishes supplies the 
table. Here the hungry outcast, the midnight wanderer 
from off the streets, is served with a cup of poor coffee and 
hash for a trifling sum of money. I seated myself at the 
table and called for coffee and doughnuts. They brought 
them to me, and while I was sitting there I saw a man come 
in who had been one of my former companions in sin. 
He did not recognize me, however. His clothes were 
ragged and soiled. He was once the companion of Billy 
Arlington, George White of Christy's minstrels, and Matt 

101 



102 MISSION WORK IN NEW YORK. 

Peal. All of them were once my friends, for I used to 
take delight in minstrel song and plays, and this was 
Billy Pearce, once a noted minstrel. 

He reached over and helped himself to the doughnut 
on my plate. I talked with him about the life he was 
living, and told him of Jesus and His love. 

This was one feature of my work — trying to reclaim 
and hold up the Savior to my old companions in sin. 
One evening I went down the Bowery to Chatam and 
Pearl streets, and called at a clothing house to see one of 
my old time friends in sin, who had been the means of 
my going into many of the sinks of iniquity in that city. 
I preached to him the gospel of mercy and truth. I told 
him he must repent, if he did not / would be a swift 
witness against him at the bar of God in the day of judg- 
ment, for he had been like the arch fiend to me. 

I finally brought him to confess Christ on his bended 
knee, and he trembled with emotion like a leaf, because 
the hand of God was upon him. 

Later on, in a little W. C. T. U. meeting in Brooklyn, 
he was converted, and I rejoiced over it, because one of 
the worst enemies of my soul had been brought to Christ. 

We will now go down to Cherry street, and into Mark 
Lanegan's whisky distillery and look at the scene there. 
It is one of the most horrible pictures imaginable. 

Men and women of all ages, classes and conditions 
mingle together in a den of filth and iniquity. Old 
drunkards and street bummers, blear-eyed and scarred, 
ragged and dirty; women with their dresses half torn 
off from their bodies by street fights and drunken brawls, 
while little children also came, bringing their pails for 
beer or whisky to take home to mothers with some feel- 
ing of shame about coming themselves, but none what- 
ever at sending their little ones into the midst of such sin 



MISSION WORK IN NEW YORK. 103 

and drunkenness as was constantly being displayed here; 
clouds of smoke, odors of tobacco and rum, oaths and 
curses, fighting, disputing and drinking, and many con- 
tinually blaspheming the name of God. All this con- 
stantly going on night and day throughout the whole 
year is a picture of Pandemonium, a type of hell itself, 
and is only one of many to be found in all of our great 
cities. 

But there is a lighthouse even here. Through the 
efforts of Jerry Macauley, the reformed river thief, in his 
mission on Water street, many of these people are 
snatched as a brand from the burning. Saved from a life 
of shame to one of virtue and usefulness. 

Before I left New York the last time I joined the old 
Jane Street M. E. church, so well known throughout the 
city, where Rev. Stephen Merritt was pastor, popularly 
known as an earnest Christian worker, a philanthropist, 
helping the poor and needy, the outcasts and fallen of 
that great city. 

He took me under his care and said: *' We will make 
you an exhorter in the M. E. church, Brother Wil- 
liams, then you can preach the gospel wherever you go." 

Some time after I received my license, and it was in 
these words: 

EXHORTER'S LICENSE. 

Robert G. Williams, having been duly recom- 
mended, is hereby licensed as an Exhorter in the Method- 
ist Episcopal church, subject to the requirements of the 
Discipline. 

Stephen Merritt, 

Preacher in Charge. 
New York, June 5, 1890. 

Some time after I received my license I went to Long 



104 MISSION WORK IN NEW YORK. 

Branch to attend the duties as steward of that hotel, hav- 
ing some two hundred servants to look after besides other 
duties in the house. 

I preached at Long Branch at intervals. My last ser- 
mon was in the Simpson Memorial M. E. church. My 
text was from the thirteenth chapter of Jeremiah, and my 
theme was ''Pride and drunkenness." 

Some of the servants at the hotel came to hear me and 
many seemed greatly benefited, for there was no more 
drinking around me after that. Some of the guests of the 
house were gamblers. They thought I was rather severe 
on them, but the sword of the truth will cut wherever it 
hits. Yet there is a balm that will cure, and that is the 
blood that was shed on Calvary. 

I returned to New York and preached in the missions, 
also in the Fifth Avenue Baptist church, by the request of 
a dear friend, Eugene Sanborn, president of the Young 
People's Society of the church. I also spoke in Rev. Dr. 
McArthur's church. 

I went to Mayo Park Falls on the Hudson and held 
my first revival services. It was strange work for me, 
but I had the gratification of seeing thirty souls added to 
the church. The pastor of the church was the Rev. 
Auckland Lord Boyle, who had formerly been an elocu- 
tionist and humorist. 

I now made up my mind I would go west and search 
for my brother John, who was somewhere in California, 
and that I would preach the gospel as I traveled in the 
true apostolic way, without money and without price. 

A farewell meeting was held in the old Jane Street 
church, and my friends came to bid me good-bye. The 
house was filled and it was a memorable night to me. 
Mrs. Prindle and many of my friends from the Florence 
Crittenden Mission were present to bid me God speed. 



CHAPTER XX. 



LEAVING FOR CALIFORNIA. 



The Robert Brothers, the celebrated Welsh singers, 
were there and sang some of their sweetest songs. After 
the meeting, I bade them all good-bye, and started for 
Philadelphia, having only $2.40 left in my pocket after I 
had purchased my ticket. That is the amount with which 
I started on my long journey across the continent. But 
the Lord always goes with His children and prepares the 
way. 

At Philadelphia I assisted in a ten days' revival in the 
Rev. Dr. Lukes' church. I also preached in Dr. Graham's 
church, and in several of the missions in that city. I then 
continued on my journey to Baltimore, and held meetings 
four times on one Sabbath while there. From thence I 
continued on my journey by way of Washington, D. C. 

During my short stay at this time in Washington, I 
had the pleasure of meeting with an old and dear friend, a 
lady whom I had not seen for thirty-seven years. Our last 
meeting had been at the theater when Forrest was play- 
ing one of his great roles, '' The Chief of the Wautauo- 
gas." At that time I was a gambler and drunkard. She 
was a beautiful young lady, a daughter of one of the lead- 
ing families of Bladensburg, Va., and a niece of ex- 
Governor Smith of that state. She married one of earth's 
noblemen, a leading real estate dealer in Washington, and 
a Christian gentleman, 

105 



106 LEAVING f^OR CALIFORNIA. 

This lady was a member of the Episcopal church, 
although when we first met neither of us had experienced 
anything of the love of God in our hearts. 

She seemed pleased to see me, and rejoiced that I had 
found the pearl of great price. We knelt in her parlor 
and thanked God that each had tasted of the goodness of 
His love. 

On leaving Washington I intended to go west imme- 
diately, having my heart set upon going as far as the 
Pacific coast. 1 went by way of Albany, however, and 
preached in the missions, and some of the churches 
wherever a door was opened for my ministrations, with- 
out making any pretense to eloquence of words or college 
training, or a knowledge of theology, but where I felt 
led by the spirit and guidance of One who had snatched 
me as a brand from the burning, from a life of sin to one 
redeemed by grace and the blood that was shed on Cal- 
vary. And I can thankfully say that I have never 
been hungry or without money since the time I gave 
my heart to God. Though brothers and sisters and 
relatives once had forsaken me, yet God has never 
left me, and during the eleven years that I have tried to 
serve Him the sunshine of His face has kept my heart 
warm, and I have found Him ever present to comfort and 
sustain me, and I have been mysteriously led by His 
divine spirit. 

I continued my journey from Albany toward San Fran- 
cisco. On my way I preached in Denver, Colo., Topeka, 
Kan., Kansas City, Leadville, Colo., and Salt Lake City in 
Rev. Dr. Iliff's church. Some of the very pillars of the 
Mormon church listened to my remarks of Christ and 
Him crucified. I hope they were profited; they were cer- 
tainly attentive. There was Geo. Bywater the high 
priest, and Bishops Morris, Jones and Davis. They 



LEAVING FOR CALIFORNIA. 107 

offered me the use of the Mormon Tabernacle to preach 
in, which I refused, as they would not allow me to take 
the free will offering of the people, my usual custom, but 
they wished to pay me a stated sum. Before I left sev- 
eral were converted and two of the Mormons renounced 
polygamy. 

I had the pleasure of visiting the great Mormon Tem- 
ple through the kindness of Bishop Morris, who was its 
founder, and he also introduced me to many of his friends, 
some officers in the Mormon church. 

While on the train near Provo, which was fifty miles 
from Salt Lake, I was introduced to Mrs. Lucy Gates, 
the favorite daughter of Brigham Young. She is an 
accomplished lady, and gave me much information 
regarding Mormonism, as well as a little history of Mr. 
Thomas, the governor of Utah, with whom many of the 
Mormons were not well pleased, on account of his oppo- 
sition to their doctrine. She gave me an introduction to 
Bishop Whitney, the WTiter of the history of Mormonism. 
Upon leaving Salt Lake my Mormon friends made me 
presents of flowers and some handsome souvenirs. Also 
a nice sum of money accompanied with a little note say- 
ing that '' the laborer is worthy of his hire." 

Leaving this great and famous capital of the Mormon 
people, I went to Ogden, and continued my missionary 
work. I visited some of the Mormons who were Welsh 
people. One of them was a Mormon elder and had two 
wives and a family by each of them. I also visited some 
of the Mormon widows, of whom there are a great many, 
and told them of Jesus and His love. One, however, 
would not receive me into her house, because I was 
not a Latter Day Saint. But I was usually received 
with kindness and respect. I purchased my ticket at 
Ogden for Sacramento. On my arrival there I went to the 



108 LEAVING FOR CALIFORNIA. 

Florence Crittenden Mission, where I took part in the 
meetings, and preached one night in the Rev. Dr. Conner's 
church, who was chaplain of the senate. I started the first 
revival that had been held there for a long time. The 
Doctor wished me to stay longer, but it was not convenient 
for me to do so, and I told him that God would help 
them, and that they could get along without me. He 
gave me a letter of introduction to the Rev. D. D. Wil- 
liams, pastor of the Congregational church in Tulare county, 
whom I found very kind and who befriended me in my 
gospel work. 



CHAPTER XXI. 



WORK IN SAN FRANCISCO. 



I finally arrived in San Francisco and remained there 
seven months, making it my headquarters, and I soon 
became acquainted with the clergy of the different 
denominations, preaching all the time in many of the 
churches. For six weeks I worked with Charles Yateman 
in the large tent erected by Mr. Chas. Crittenden, founder 
of so many missions, and thousands came to hear the 
gospel. 

During the midwinter fair in San Francisco many 
thousand people came to the city, thinking they could 
secure work, but were disappointed, consequently the city 
was filled with people without employment, and there 
was much suffering. Many pastors of the various 
churches gave nearly all of their salaries to aid the poor 
and unfortunate. Among them Rev. Dr. Case, Dr. 
Gibson, Dr. Dilly and others. 

The hotel men also gave liberally. Major Hooper, of 
the Occidental, and Mr. Christian, of the Palace hotel, 
gave meats and soups, and even the heart of that old gold 
miner, Lucky Baldwin, as he is called, was touched, and 
he gave bountifully from his great wealth to aid the 
destitute. 

Mrs. Montgomery, once so well known in Buffalo, 
N. Y., as Miss Carrie Judd, a zealous Christian worker 
and evangelist, was in San Francisco at that time and did 

109 



no WORK IN SAN FRANCISCO. 

most efficient service by soliciting from the merchants 
food and clothing and was truly the '' Good Samaritan" 
of the city. 

The Salvation Army did much to relieve the needy, 
and many were saved from great suffering through their 
efforts. 

Many poor unfortunates found shelter in the old 
prison and were fed coffee, meats and bread, for which 
they paid only five cents. It was man's extremity, but 
God's opportunity. We held meetings here frequently 
with the people, and many while kneeling down on that 
old prison floor were moved to turn to the Lord for sal- 
vation, and shed tears of penitence. 

I preached at this time in the new prison in which 
Durant, the murderer, was incarcerated. I also held sev- 
eral meetings in Oakland and in many of the larger towns 
and cities in California. 

At this time the country about Fresno was in great 
commotion over the arrest of those noted highwaymen, 
Sontag and Chris Evans. Sontag died from bullet 
wounds made at the time of his arrest, and I afterward 
saw his headless body lying in the undertaker's office 
after a post-mortem examination. His broken-hearted 
mother passed by me as I entered the door. His wife 
was the daughter of Chris Evans, his partner. I held 
services in different churches at Fresno and at Visalia in 
Dr. Edwards' Southern M. E. church, where at the time 
Chris Evans' wife and daughter had been members in 
good standing, but on the arrest of her husband and father 
they had gone on the stage at San Francisco to earn suf- 
ficient mean^ to get him out of prison, thereupon the 
church had expelled them. They did not succeed in 
their undertaking and felt great compunctions of con- 
science at the step they had taken. At this time I heard 



WORK IN SAN FRANCISCO, 111 

of the daughter being taken very sick. Obeying the 
promptings of the spirit, I called upon them to comfort 
them as best I could in my feeble way, and, if possible, to 
bring them back to Christ. I found them ready to re- 
ceive me and willing to talk on religious subjects, as 
though the Master had gone before me and prepared the 
ground for the seed I had come to sow, and the Holy 
Spirit with its tender influence brought about the result I 
prayed for. They gave themselves again to Christ and 
found the peace they once enjoyed. I talked with Dr. 
Edwards and told him that Eva had said to me that, '' If 
God had sent such a man here before, we never would 
have gone on the stage;" and he decided they should 
be taken back into the church. 

I found a nephew, and namesake of mine, in this sec- 
tion of the country. He owned a large ranch with much 
stock. We rode horseback a distance of eighteen miles 
to the forest of big redwood trees, with which the descrip- 
tions in so many books, and the section of one of them 
having been exhibited at the World's Fair at Chicago, 
has made every one familiar. 

Oh, what a wonder of nature. I was not disappointed. 
The sight of such gigantic monarchs of the forest, tower- 
ing hundreds of feet toward heaven, rising above their 
companions, raised my thoughts from nature to nature's 
God, and enabled me to give a strong lesson to my 
nephew, which I hope will bear fruit in the Master's 
name. He is respected by all of his neighbors, and was 
once postmaster of the place. 

I preached in many of the schoolhouses, in different 
places, also at Springville and at Porterville. While visit- 
ing my nephew I had opportunities of holding many 
meetings, but, as a rule, found religion at a low ebb, even 
in the hearts of those who professed to be Christians. 



112 WORK IN SAN FRANCISCO. 

Only now and then could one be found who was willing 
to pray in public, or make an open profession of his 
Savior. 

From my nephew I learned that the last letter re- 
ceived from his uncle (my brother John) had been mailed 
from Comptonville in California in the year i860. It had 
been directed to my sister Kate. I soon started for 
Comptonville, having to go by stage. I passed through 
Grass Valley, also Nevada City, and on arriving at Comp- 
tonville, I found a Welsh family by the name of Williams, 
who had lived there many years, but were not related to 
me. I was informed by them that no such man as John 
Williams had ever lived there, and that they had never 
even heard of any one by that name. 

I was very much disappointed, in fact almost broken- 
hearted, and ready to give up the search. But on the 
second morning, Mr. Williams, who had insisted upon 
my stopping with him and who was a wealthy miner, 
proposed to go with me to see quite an old man, one of 
the first settlers there, who lived three miles away up in 
the mountains; a man who was called by all his neighbors 
who knew him, *' Pap Stevens." He was also a miner and 
a very wealthy man. We succeeded in finding the old 
gentleman, who looked like a Patriarch, indeed. He was 
bent over with age, his long locks of white hair hung 
down over his shoulders and deep furrows in his face 
showed that the finger of time had done its work. He 
had seen many hardships in the miners' camps among the 
mountains for more than half a century. 

He received us very kindly, since a stranger coming 
into the camp and into his house was more than an ordi- 
nary event, for it so seldom occurred. I was introduced 
to him. I then inquired if he had ever known a man in 
that part of the country by the name of John Williams. 



WORK IN SAN FRANCISCO. 113 

He gazed at me for a moment, seemingly to recall the 
past. Finally his face brightened up and he replied, 
"Yes," to my question. ** I used to know Captain John 
Williams well. He was a miner, and at one time my part- 
ner in the establishing of the first hydraulic works in 
this state." 

He pointed to the roof of his house and said that it 
was put on by Captain John. I thanked God that I had 
found a clue of my long absent brother at last. I had ob- 
tained some knowledge of him which I had sought so 
long for. 

I felt delighted that I had even found one who had 
known him, although it had been so many years ago. It 
was the first link in the chain of information I had been 
seeking for. He continued to say that the last news he 
had of my brother " was thirty years ago. He was then 
married and had a family, but was then," sorry to say, ** a 
drinking man." That intelligence made me feel very sad, 
but all the more strengthened my resolution to find him 
and save him. My host continued: '* When last heard of 
he lived at La Porte, Plumas county, in this state." 



CHAPTER XXII. 



ON THE TRAIL AT LAST. 



The next morning I arose early, and with a thankful 
heart started on foot to find my brother. It was impos- 
sible to go in any other way. There were no stages and 
not even a trail. I had to travel a distance of twenty 
miles over the mountains, that being the short way. To 
go around by the old route would be over a hundred 
miles. On my first day's journey I found a very rough 
road. It was up hill and down, across ravines and through 
gullies and hiding places of the wild beasts living in the 
mountains. 

My first stopping place was called Whisky Diggings. 
I arrived at this mining town about four o'clock in the 
afternoon, very tired and hungry. I found a lodging 
place with a countryman of mine, who made me welcome. 
The town was a rough looking place, inhabited by a 
mixed class of people, Chinese, Irish, Polanders, etc., all 
fond of whisky and all digging for gold. I used the 
opportunity of preaching to them as best I could, telling 
them that Jesus Christ, only, could take away the appetite 
for strong drink, and save them from their sins. The 
next morning I bade them good-bye and started again on 
my journey over the hills without a compass, hour glass 
or guide. I walked sometimes on narrow ledges of 
rocks, on the very verge of great gulfs and yawning 
chasms into which, unless I was very careful, I might 

114 



ON THE TRAIL AT LAST. 115 

stumble any moment I missed my step or lost my hold. 
It would do for a sure footed Indian to walk there, but 
for an inexperienced white man it was a dangerous place 
to go. 

In many places the mountains towered above me thou- 
sands of feet in height, many of them capped with snow. 
It was a lonely place to travel. I thought of the bears 
and mountain lions that make their dwelling places amid 
the fastnesses of these great crags and ravines among the 
mountains, but remembered that one of olden time was 
thrown into a den of wild beasts, yet their mouths were 
closed, and they did him no harm. I felt safe, because I 
committed myself to the care of Him who promised to 
care for all who put their trust in Him. 

About four miles from my next stopping place, called 
Brandy Wine Diggings, I met a doctor having a pair of 
snow-shoes hanging over his back, ready for use if nec- 
essary. He told me that at a distance of two miles 
directly in my path I would come to a great field of snow, 
which was from ten to seventy feet deep; that it was 
crusted over, however, so I could walk on it. He then 
directed me on my way, and went a little distance with 
me, I following his footsteps. I became very tired, and 
seeing the snow had melted away around a large tree I 
thought I would sit down and rest, but I slipped down into 
a deep hole by the tree, caused by the melting of the 
snow around it. I was afraid I should never get out 
again. I had with me my cane and umbrella, and with 
them managed to get out of my trouble. 

After resting on the snow a little while, I started again, 
climbing the mountain. I needed much courage and 
faith, but the thoughts of meeting my brother stimulated 
me, and I pressed on. I soon lost the doctor's trail, as he 
had gone ahead and was out of sight. Standing still for 

8 



116 ON THE TRAIL AT LAST. 

a short time like a monument, I knew not what to do, 
neither did I know in what direction Brandy Wine Dig- 
gings lay; I did not want to turn back, and was in a quan- 
dary. Bat I trusted in God, and He always provides a 
way out of trouble to those who put their trust in Him. 

Looking away in the distance I could see two men 
coming around the mountain leading a horse, all wearing 
snow-shoes — horse and men. 

I shouted to them at the top of my voice: ** Ho there!" 
They heard me, and I thanked God for the sound of a 
human voice in that trackless waste of snow, and espe- 
cially as they brought me glad news of my brother. 
While I waited a few moments they came nearer and 
nearer, until I could ask them to direct me the nearest 
way to La Porte. I also asked them if they knew a man 
by the name of Captain John Williams. They said, ** Yes." 

Dear reader, my feelings at the moment I will not 
attempt to describe, but leave to your imagination. My 
heart expanded with thankfulness that through God's 
guidance my mother's wish would be realized. 

From these men I learned that my brother's home 
was about five miles away. I started on with redoubled 
vigor. My traveling seemed quite easy, for I had only 
that short distance to go, and the great aim of my long 
journey was about accomplished. They told me to direct 
my course a little to the west until I found their trail, 
and then follow it and it would lead me straight to 
Captain John Williams' door, for they had just come 
from there. 

I continued going forward, according to their direc- 
tions, with my heart overflowing with gratitude and praise 
to God. I soon came to a deep ravine through which a 
large stream was flowing, over which I could not cross. 
I looked about me and saw at a little distance that a 



> 

o 

H 

W 

o 
> 




ON THE TRAIL AT LAST. 117 

tree which had fallen across the chasm would serve me 
as a bridge. I very carefully crossed on it, reaching the 
other side safely. 

I then found a path leading from a gold mine to La 
Porte, and taking it went on up over the mountain, a dis- 
tance of three miles, to the little town where my brother 
and family lived. 

I soon stood at his front door, as one of the neighbors 
had pointed out the house to me. 

I shall never forget my feelings at that moment, nor 
the events of that day. It was on the sixth day of May, 
1895. ^^^ scenes of the past forty-three years seemed to 
come up before me. Memory carried me back to the 
time when we, as a family, were all at home in Wales; 
of our boyhood days, when my brother and I played 
together on the old homestead, climbing the mountain, 
fishing and sailing on the sea; of the meetings and part- 
ings; the many changes that had taken place; of those 
that had gone, and of the few still living — myself, brothers 
John and David, now^ in Watertown, Wis. 

I thought of the last time I saw my brother and 
wondered if he would know me. We were boys together; 
now the years had wrought their changes, and no doubt 
he was much changed and would see a great change in 
me. 

I was tired and hungry, for I had not eaten anything 
since breakfast. I looked around over the town and saw 
that it w^as a small place, and like all mining towns in that 
part of the country. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



FOUND AT LAST. 



I knocked at the door, and a nice, pleasant looking 
lady came and opened it. 

I asked her if this was Mr. Williams' house. She said: 
" Yes, Sir, but he is not at home." 

She looked at me rather suspiciously, I thought. I 
afterward learned she had taken me for a United States 
detective, looking after those persons who used the gov- 
ernment water without any license. She asked me to 
come in, however, and I took a seat by the fire. She 
offered me a pair of slippers, as my feet were wet; my 
garments were in the same condition also. She imme- 
diately placed before me, in a very hospitable manner, 
something to eat, which I partook of gladly. 

All of this time she was looking at me very inquisi- 
tively. Finally she asked my name. I hesitated a 
moment, hardly willing to tell her until my brother had 
returned, but after asking her if she could keep a secret 
if I should tell one to her, and at her reply that '' a woman 
can keep a secret," I said, '' I will trust you." I then told 
her my name was Williams. 

She jumped to the conclusion at once, saying, *'You 
are my husband's brother." She was so overjoyed she 
put her arms around my neck and kissed me, saying, 
'* How strange it is that only yesterday your brother John 
was talking about his family, and said, with tears in his 

118 



FOUND AT LAST. 119 

eyes, 'They must all be dead, or have forgotten me.' He 
also spoke about you, his brother Robert, and he had not 
mentioned your name before for years." 

I told her I wanted to kneel down and thank God for 
bringing me thus far safely to my brother's home, for I 
am glad to say I found her to be a child of God. The 
children soon came in from school, among them a young 
girl named after my sister Annie. She was fourteen 
years of age. Georgie was eighteen; Eddie the youngest 
son was seven; the oldest was thirty. We all entered into 
an agreement to surprise the father when he came from 
the mines, where he was digging for gold. We did not 
have to wait long, for soon we heard his footsteps. It was 
agreed upon that they were to introduce me to my 
brother as a Mr. Jones from Utica, N. Y. 

He came into the dining room, and I heard the con- 
versation between him and his wife. She told him that a 
gentleman by the name of Jones, from Utica, N. Y., was in 
the parlor, and wished to see him regarding some gold 
mines. She requested me not to reveal myself too sud- 
denly to him, as he was afflicted with heart disease, and 
she was afraid that if so unusual and unexpected an event 
were revealed to him too suddenly it might affect him 
seriously and perhaps cause his death. After supper he 
came into the parlor, and my heart beat like atrip-hammer 
as I saw him coming. The face I had not seen for forty- 
three years, my own brother, and one of the family whom I 
promised my mother forty-six years ago to keep together, 
aftei she was dead. The children were all in the parlor 
with me. He looked at me with a strange expression on 
his countenance, which I cannot soon forget. He had 
changed much since I last saw him. Once his hair and 
beard were like the raven's wing, but now they were white 
as snow. I recognized him, however. It was my long lost 



120 FOUND AT LAST. 

brother John. The introduction came. He shook hands 
with me, but intuitively I knew he was very nervous. I 
began to talk with him about a gold mine which he owned, 
together with his son and a Mr. Mullen, named the ** High- 
land Mary," and which was considered one of the most val- 
uable in that part of the country. After talking about this 
a short time, I felt that I must make myself known to him. 
I could keep the secret no longer, not being able to sup- 
press the emotions of my heart. I spoke to him about his 
family and his mother, which brought tears to his eyes. 
He talked about his sister Kate, and his brothers Robert 
and David, saying too, ''Here is my little daughter Annie." 

At this point my emotions overcame me, and trem- 
blingly I laid my hand upon his shoulder and said: ''John, I 
am your brother Robert,'' and I put my arms around his neck. 
With a quick, sharp look at my face, examining its every 
feature, he said: ''No, you cannot h^ Robert, iox h^ is 
dead. The last time I saw him was four years before I 
started for California. He was then living in Boston." 
This gave me an opportunity of proving myself to him. I 
said: ''You say you remember that last meeting with your 
brother Robert? " He said: "Yes, perfectly." I said: 
" Let me recall it to your mind, that you may be convinced 
that I am he. I went in a nice two-horse carriage to visit 
you with sister Kate, who was the mother of the family. 
It was a beautiful summer afternoon and your conversa- 
tion was about going, later on, to California, which you 
finally did in two or three years.'' 

I then talked about our mother's grave and the family 
in general. He was then convinced I was his own brother 
Robert. 

Sobbing and crying, he laid his head on my shoulder, 
as Jacob did when he met his brother Esau, overcome by 
his emotion. It was an interview long to be remembered. 



FOUND AT LAST. 121 

Brother meeting with brother, after nearly half a century 
had passed, each having for many years thought the 
other dead. Every one in the room wept with joy and 
thanksgiving, for the lost was found, away among the 
craggy peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains in Cali- 
fornia. It was a happy time. We all knelt down and 
united our thanks to God, that He had brought to pass 
the desire of my heart, and had permitted me to see 
my brother once more, and his interesting family. 

We talked about the past and the many changes that 
we had seen and passed through since we last met. 

He thought he was the only one remaining of the little 
family that left Wales with such high anticipations so 
many years ago to seek a home in America, the strang- 
er*s land. He had not heard from any of his brothers or 
sisters. He had worked in the mines and was much 
secluded from the outside world. But he had an inter- 
esting family. His wife was the daughter of Mr. O'Grady, 
who was once an official of the San Quinton prison in 
San Francisco, but now an official of the mint of that city. 
She was a niece of James O'Grady, Esq., a distinguished 
lawyer of New York city. The children are all very exem- 
plary in their deportment and habits. Her oldest son 
has never tasted of tobacco or whisky, nor used profane 
language. 

I remained here with my brother for two weeks, visit- 
ing the people and holding meetings. The time came 
when I finally held my farewell service in the old M. E. 
church there in La Porte. After giving them a short ac- 
count of my life's experiences, I ended with my lecture 
on '* Mother's little red Bible," or, '' I have kept my 
promise to my mother, God helping me." The church 
was well filled with the residents of the place, who were 
made up of various nationalities. Many of those present 



122 FOUND AT LAST. 

wept when I told them the story of my mother's death, 
of father and sister Kate, and of the promise I made to 
my mother forty-six years before. My brother was quite 
overcome, and kneeling down prayed to his mother's God 
the prayer of the publican, while the arms of his brother 
Robert were around his neck. Many of the congregation 
sought the pearl of great price and found it then and 
there, my brother included among the number. 

'' And there was joy in Heaven." That night was one 
of the happiest of my life. All the hardships I had en- 
dured, the long journey of thousands of miles that I had 
traveled to keep the promise to my dear mother of find- 
ing this brother, were all forgotten, and I was receiving 
my reward, for he that was ''lost was found," and made 
alive in Christ. 

I had been searching three years or more, had traveled 
over sandy deserts, crossed many rivers, had climbed 
mountains covered with snow in search of my brother. 
During this time, while in the west — in California, British 
Columbia and Washington Territory — I preached the gos- 
pel wherever I could. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



LEAVING CALIFORNIA. 



But the time came when I had to leave my brother 
and his kind family, also the little town amon^ the 
mountains, with the many friends I had made there, 
in order to continue the work I felt God had laid out 
for me. 

The neighbors gathered around the little stage office 
the morning of my departure, to bid me good-bye, and 
many showed by the hearty shake of the hand, and 
fervent '* God bless you," that I had secured a place 
in their hearts. 

It was hard to part with my brother and his family, 
not knowing whether I should ever see them again; 
but committing them all to One who careth for all, 
while they wept, I took my seat in the stage, and was 
soon out of sight. 

On my return to the east I preached in many of the 
cities on the route, at Helena, Mont., and at Great Falls, 
in the Rev. F. A. Riggin's church, where meetings were 
held for two weeks with good success. I also held 
services in Portland, Ore., Butte City, British Columbia, 
and at St. Paul, M'inn., in the People's church, and many 
other places, in some of the opera houses, many of the 
Y. M. C. A. rooms, and will give a few of the many 
kind notices I have received from the various pastors 
where I have worked, as well as from many of the 
newspapers published in the cities I have visited. 

123 



124 LEAVING CALIFORNIA. 

My fervent prayer in concluding this narrative of my 
eventful and checkered life, with all its varied scenes of 
drunkenness, gambling and sinful pleasures, together 
with my conversion in the old prison cell, may be a lesson 
to all who are in darkness and sin, and that they may 
take warning by my experience, and shun the evil, choose 
the light that shines from the cross, accept Christ as their 
only hope, who will save and keep them from the thou- 
sand ills I experienced, and guide them safely over life's 
tempestuous sea, for 

"Unknown waves before us roll, 
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal, 
Chart and compass come from Thee, 
Jesus, Savior, pilot me" 

To that haven where the weary cease from troubling, and 
the weary are at rest. Amen. 



TESTIMONIALS. 125 



Letter from a prominent physician of Chicago. 

3200 Vernon Ave., Chicago, February 5, 1896. 

My Dear Friend Williams: 

I am glad to hear that you have returned safely from 
the Pacific coast, and also that your health is fairly good. 
Only reflect for a single minute, that I have known you 
intimately for forty years. When I first met you in Bos- 
ton I was attending Harvard University, and you were 
the gay and handsome '* Bob Williams/' of the fashionable 
and aristocratic club of Boston. You were then paying 
homage at the shrine of Bacchus, and watching the grace- 
ful curls of smoke from your fifty cent cigars. You were 
then hobnobing with the young bloods of Boston, indulg- 
ing in Mumm's best dry and the costly brands of Madeira. 
You were then basking in the sunshine of alluring and 
seductive pleasures, giving little heed to the outlook of the 
future; but you were drifting toward solid rocks unwit- 
tingly, because when your mind was in its normal condi- 
tion, you always seemed to feel that your life, as being 
spent there, was without a worthy and laudable object in 
view. I predicted then that you would surely abandon a 
career that left you nothing to contemplate and recall but 
burning, bitter regrets and dead sea ashes, and lastly, you 
did escape the deadly and paralyzing influence of your 
companions, and the palsying touch of those who have 
passed into the silence of the sepulcher, forgotten, un- 
heard of, and lost to memory. 

How many of the young bloods who were your com- 
panions are alive to day ? The majority have been called 



126 TESTIMONIALS. 

to the silent realm; many filled a drunkard's grave, others 
became physical or mental wrecks, while others still found 
a refuge in the inebriate asylum. I am indeed glad that 
you escaped the sad fate of many of your early associates; 
that you sought and found refuge within the confines of 
the Christian church; that you wandered into the fold of 
Christian charity, love and sympathy; that you found, 
after many years of wandering, a haven of rest in the 
spiritual communion with your Savior, whose untold and 
boundless riches of sustaining grace and uplifting power 
and love have brought you from darkness to light, from 
sin, folly and baneful habits to the crowning glories of a 
devoted. Christian life. Now, Bob, my dear fellow, stand 
firm upon the solid rock; continue in your ministrations; 
gather in the idlers and wanderers; soothe the sorrow 
of those who repent; encourage the faltering and doubt- 
ing, and pursue your course of self-denial, self-sacrificing 
life, for there is surely a glittering crown awaiting you in 
the eternal mansion above. May God bless your efforts, 
sustain and strengthen you in your noble works, and 
finally bring you into His Kingdom as a worthy worker 
in the Army of the Cross. Faithfully, 

Andrew Jas. Park, M. D. 

Certificate of Membership. 

This certifies that Robert G. Williams, the bearer, is 
an acceptable member of the First Methodist Episcopal 
Church in Waukesha, Wis. 

Henry P. Hazlett, Pastor. 

March i, fSgo. 

N. B. — We have enjoyed Brother Williams' stay with 
us very much. The prayers and good wishes of pastor and 
people go with him. 



TESTIMONIALS. 121 

Rev. R. G. Williams is well known to us as a faithful 
evangelist and missionary in this city, working day and 
night for the poor and needy without fee and compensa- 
tion. W. W. Case, 

Pastor Howard Street M. E. Church, July 30, 1894. 

J. G. Chown, 
Christian Union Mission. 
M. M. Gibson. 
Pastor of First United Presbyterian Church, San 
Francisco. 

F. A. DOANE, 

Minister in charge of the Mizpah Presbyterian Church. 

To All Whom It May Concern: This is to certify that 
Brother R. G. Williams has labored for two weeks in our 
charge as an evangelist. His sermons have been charac- 
terized by great earnestness and spiritual power, 
especially helpful to those who, like himself, have been 
long in sin. 

He has been pleasant in our home and genial in 
Christian co-operation. We commend him to those 
needing his services. Fraternally, 

Rev. F. a. Riggin, 

Great Falls, Mont. 

October i, 1895. 

[From Great Falls, Montana Standard, September 19, 1896.] 

R. G. Williams, the Welsh evangelist, now holding 
services in this city, is a pleasant, interesting talker, and 
has an eventful career. He doesn't parade the streets 
with a brass drum to attract attention. Mr. Williams is a 
gentleman capable of doing good in the profession he has 
chosen to follow, because he enjoys the respect and con- 
fidence of those he has around him. He believes what he 



128 TESTIMONIALS. 

says, and is devoting his life to earnest and successful 
Christian work. 

Pastor's Study, First Presbyterian Church, 

Camden, N. J., May 21, 1892. 
Rev. L. T. Graham: 

My Dear Brother: This introduces to you Mr. R. G. 
Williams, of New York, a reliable and devoted temper- 
ance evangelist, whom I have known the past two years. 
He has a thrilling life history, and is calculated to do 
great good, especially among the young. He has just 
finished an excellent work for me in one of my missions. 
Give him a hearing and help to set before him an effect- 
ual door to a good service in your city. 
Fraternally yours. 

Rev. Wellington E. Loucks. 

41 Spruce Street, Newark, N. J., Dec. 3, 1891. 

Mr. Robert G. Williams, Eighth Avenue, near 
Twenty-second Street, New York. 

My Dear Brother: I write as you requested. Your 
talk on Sunday night was very much enjoyed, and I 
appreciate your coming over. 

Wishing you every possible success in your work for 
the Master wherever you may be, I remain. 

Yours most sincerely. 
Rev. Lyman W. Allen, Pastor. 

Philadelphia, May 25, 1892. 

To Whom It May Concern: I believe Mr. R. G. Wil- 
liams to be a consecrated Christian man, and capable of 
doing good service in the Master's vineyard. 

L. T. Graham. 



TESTIMONIALS. 129 

68 David Street, Victoria, B. C, Sept. 4, 1894. 
To Whom It May Concern: Brother R. G. Williams, 
the Welsh evangelist and exhorter in the M. E. church, 
bears letters from various churches in San Francisco and 
other places, some of whom I am acquainted with, 
especially Rev. W. W. Case, D. D., of the Howard street 
church. I have been much refreshed and profited by our 
Christian fellowship during his brief stay in our city. 

Joseph Hall, 
Pastor of Centennial Methodist Church. 

216 W. Fourteenth Street, 

New York, April 28, 1892. 
To Whom It May Concern: This is to certify that I am 
well acquainted with R. G. Williams, and hereby commend 
him to the fellowship and love of all Christians. Brother 
Williams is a man of undoubted piety, an earnest worker. 
He was made exhorter by the pastor of Jane Street M. E. 
church, January 5, 1890. He is now a member of the 
First M. E. church, Waukesha, Wis. He is a very useful 
man. May God bless him and go before him. 

R. M. Stratton, 
Pastor Green Street M. E. Church, New York. 

Leland Hotel, Chicago, III., August 17, 1889. 
Mr. Lee, Fountain Spring House, Waukesha, Wis. 

Dear Sir: I take pleasure in introducing my friend, 
R. G. Williams, who is a competent hotel man, and a gen- 
tleman whom I have known many years. He is a man 
of integrity, and you can rely fully upon any statement 
which he makes to you. 

I will go on his bond for the amount of ^10,000. 
Many years ago he was steward of the Everett House, 
New York city. He has also been inside steward for my 



130 TESTIMONIALS. 

brother, Warren, at the Leland Hotel, this city. He is 
an honest, reliable, Christian man, worthy of your con- 
sideration and regard. Mutually yours, 

Lewis Leland, 
Warren F. Leland. 
I heartily endorse all that my friend, Mr. Leland, has 
written. Mr. Williams is one man in a thousand, and can 
give the best of satisfaction. 

Judge Muratt Matteson, 

Mexico. 

Fountain Spring House, 
Waukesha, Wis., August 31, 1891. 
I take pleasure in endorsing Mr. R. G. Williams, who 
has been steward and purchasing agent for the Fountain 
Spring House during the summer season, as being a sober, 
thoroughly competent, experienced, honest and indus- 
trious man. Very truly yours, 

J. M. Lee, 
Proprietor. 



[From Racine Times December 2, 1895.] 

Rev. Bob Williams delivered his famous lecture last 
evening at the Trinity M. E. church to a very large audi- 
ence. The service may best be described as one of in- 
tense interest. Under the burning words of the eloquent 
speaker strong men trembled and women wept. At the 
close of the lecture there was an uprising of the entire 
congregation to manifest their hearty approval of the dis- 
course they had listened to with wrapt attention. Mr. 
Williams pictured the downward course of the man who 
gives himself up to drink, as exemplified in his own 
career, and so terrible was the picture that many were 
moved to tears. 



TESTIMONIALS. i:jl 

From Rev. A. C. Hirst, D. D., LL. D. 

I met R. G. Williams in San Francisco, who was doing 
Christian work in the missions and some of the churches. 
He gives all his time and energy to this work, inviting 
men everywhere to Christ. A. C. Hirst, 

Pastor Centenary M. E. Church, Chicago. 

It gives me pleasure to say that R. G. Williams was a 
member of the First M. E. church in Chicago when I was 
pastor there, and had the respect and confidence of all 
who knew him. He often gave us an account of his sin- 
ful career and his conversion to the Lord Jesus Christ by 
the Holy Ghost. H. W. Bolton, 

Pastor Park Ave. M. E. Church, Chicago. 

At y Parch R. G. Williams : 

Anwyl Frawd: Yr wyf yn deall eich bod yn cyhoeddi 
hanes eich bywyd '' Robin Williams y Meddwyn Dych- 
weledig." Nis gwn am neb cymwysach i'r gwaith. 
Bzddaf yn edrych arnoch ers Clynyddan, fel colofn eglor; 
a thystiolaeth gref ; o alia a dylanwad gras Duw — galln i 
droi; a chadw pechadwreaid, mawrion. Duw yn rhwydd 
i chur, gydaich antur iaeth, an fawwch i mi y Llyfn 
Yn gyurs, 

Rev. D. J. BiSMARK Davis. 

Chicago, Chwef 27, 1896. 

( Translated, ) 
Rev. R. G. Williams: 

Dear Old Friend: I am glad to understand you are going 
to publish a book — your own history of *' Bob Williams, 
the Reformed Drunkard." I don't know of anyone more 
suitable to expose and give a thorough experience of a hard 
case than you — when in the world in the nearest side to hell 



132 TESTIMONIALS. 

you could possibly be. Since you had a turn you proved 
yourself to be a genuine Christian, reflecting with energy 
the power of the grace of God. Send me the book. 

Respectfully, Bismark Davis. 

I endorse the above. 

The Rev. D. S. Davis, 
Pastor of the First Congregational Church, Joliet, 111. 

It gives me sincere pleasure to heartily unite in com- 
mending my dear Brother Williams to the favorable con- 
sideration of all who love Jesus Christ. 

Francis Murphy, 
Temperance Evangelist. 

Tacoma, November 26, 1894. 
Mr. R. G. Williams: 

Dear Sir: I listened to your address in the Y. M. C. A. 
rooms yesterday afternoon, and was very much pleased 
with it. After the service I went home and took from 
my Bible (presented to me by my mother) the enclosed 
poem, which I wish to present to you. I have another 
copy of the same pasted in my Bible, and I trust you will 
do likewise with this enclosed. 

Wishing you success and God-speed in your chosen 
work, I am. Very truly yours, 

H. H. Crosby. 

A son of Fanny Crosby, the authoress. 

A mother's gift — THE BIBLE. 

(2 Tim., iii:14, 15.) 
Remember, love, who gave thee this, 

When other days shall come, 
When she who had the earliest kiss 

Sleeps in her narrow home. 
Remember, 'twas a mother gave 
The gift to one she'd die to save. 



TESTIMONIALS. ISS 

Thy mother sought a pledge of love, 

The holiest for her son; 
And from the gifts of God above 

She chose this holy one — 
She chose for her beloved boy 
The source of light and life and joy. 

I bid thee keep the gift, that when 

The parting hour shall come, 
We may have hope to meet again 

In an eternal home. 
Thy precious faith in this shall be 
Sweet incense to my memory. 

And should the scoffer in his pride 

Laugh that found faith to scorn, 
And bid thee cast the pledge aside 

That thou from youth hast borne, 
I bid thee pause, and ask thy breast 
If he or I have loved thee best. 

A mother's blessing on her son 

Goes with this holy thing; 
The heart that would enjoy the one 

Must to the other cling. 
Remember, 'tis no idle toy, 
A mother's gift, my darling boy. 



This letter was written to my darling babe when I was 
overwhelmed with grief after the death of her dear mother. 
It is an obituary of my dear wife, as well as a letter from 
a sorrowful father to his only child. 

RoBT. Vaughn. 

Presented to R. G. Williams, the Welsh Evangelist, by 
the author. 

Great Falls, Mont., Sept. i8, 1895. 

My Darling Little Babe: Your mother died January 
13, 1888, when you were but thirteen days old. To-day 
you are seven weeks old. Your tongue and communica- 
tive powers are tied with the tie of infancy. You can't 
tell papa how dear mamma loved and how sweet her last 
kiss was. You can't tell papa that mamma said, ^'Take 
good care of darling babe," and how she embraced you 
to her bosom and blessed you for the last time. Neither 
can you apprehend papa telling you how happy papa and 
mamma lived together. You are now sleeping in the cradle 
and I am sitting alone by your side thinking of your dear 
mother and how she loved you before you were born and 
the pleasure she had when making your little clothes 
during the last four months, before she was confined to 
her bed. 

But she has gone to that land where rivers flow over 
golden sands — where pearls and many a gem deck the 
shores. Last night, as I was mourning after her and 
thinking of her loving companionship and her kind words, 
a still voice came to me saying, '' Tell our darling babe 

134 



that we lived happy." This put me to thinking that I 
may have gone through the " valley " before you will be 
old enough for me to tell you this happy tale. But, by 
the grace of God, I comfort myself with the hope that 
you and I will be companions to each other for many 
years to come, and that I will have the pleasure of listen- 
ing to you reading me this letter which I am now writing 
to you. God bless you, sweet angel! 

Your dear mother was born near Toronto, Canada, 
March ig, 1855. She was the daughter of Matthew and 
Jane Donahue. We were married August 25, 1886, at the 
home of Uncle and Aunt Spencer (where also she made 
her home), by Rev. J. H. Little. The same morning we 
left for Helena. We got there next day. It was fair 
week. We staid five days and met many friends. Here 
we had our photos taken and purchased our household 
goods — the organ, sewing machine, etc. And this is the 
time I had her ring made out of a nugget of gold I had 
taken from the mines twenty years before. We came 
home happy and went to work and organized our little 
home, and in about three weeks we had it — to us — a little 
palace. And oh! such a welcome she always gave me 
when I came home! What a heart she had! So large 
and pure, and so kind and womanly! She always kept 
everything so neat and nice. She made me love home 
and gave me a new thought— how very little happiness 
depends upon money. Often in the still hour of the 
evening we would stroll away through the meadows, 
sometimes down along the banks of Sun river, and care- 
lessly hold each other's hand. She walked closely at my 
side, telling me some sweet words and sometimes rhymes, 
and often we sang some favorite hymn. And now it seems 
to me how beautiful those happy days were, They are 
like dreams, 

135 



Your dear mother was always pleasant. I never left 
the house to go all day without she would come and give 
me a kiss before I went, and never failed to meet me 
at the door to give me a kiss and a welcome on my 
return. We truly loved each other. No two who joined 
hands together ever lived happier than we. Whatever 
I did she always thought was done right, and what- 
ever she did I could not improve. It was impossible. 
Anything in the house, if it was moved from the place 
she had for it I could see that it was out of its place. 
Even a picture on the wall could not be placed any- 
where else to look as well as the place she already 
had for it. She was a perfect mechanic. She was 
genial. She was gentle and polite in her manners. A 
more faithful partner never lived. A more true, affec- 
tionate wife and a more loving mother could not be. 
Your dear mother was a Christian. She lived as a 
Christian and died as a Christian. The first time we met 
in our little chamber to go to rest for the first night to- 
gether, your dear mother knelt by the bedside and 
prayed to God to give us grace and bless us as we started 
on the voyage of life together. She asked Him to give 
us grace to live a happy life, to live so we could die 
happy. And many, many times I have thought of her 
prayers during our happy life together, and of her sweet 
words, ** Tell the folks I die happy." From that night to 
the last time she went to her bed she always prayed be- 
fore she went to rest for the night. Also in the morning 
she kneeled before the Throne of Grace and thanked the 
Lord for His loving kindness. She always had her Bible 
on the dresser or on the table in our bedroom, and pe- 
rused it with care. She said one day: ** If we can't 
attend church regularly in this country, we can be good 
by prayer to God and read our Bible regularly." And 

136 



her motto, in her own handiwork, is now over our bed- 
room door, chosen by herself years ago. It is this: 
* * 

: SIMPLY : 

: TO THY CROSS I CLING. ! 

* 4 

She illustrated on her deathbed how this beautiful 
motto was engraved on her heart, for among her last 
sayings were: "Blessed be the Savior who died on the 
cross, and I cling to that cross." Oh, what a treasure 
she w^as! Our short life together was but a holiday, and 
a happy one. And here now I ask you, my dear babe, 
let your creed be the Bible and your example your dear 
mother. If your father will not be with you ask some 
one to teach you to pray when you are young,, for He 
said: *' I love them that love me, and they that seek 
me early shall find me." *'The same God who molded 
the sun and kindled the stars watches the flight of an 
insect. He who balances the clouds and hung the worlds 
upon nothing notices the fall of a sparrow. He who gives 
Saturn his rings, and placed the moon like a ball of silver 
in the broad arch of heaven; who gives the rose leaf its 
delicate tint, and makes the distant sun to nourish the 
violet, the same Being notices the praises of the cherubim 
and the prayers of a little child." It is He who is the 
father of the orphan; He whom your dear mother placed 
her trust in, and who comforted her through life and 
in death. 

The following is her testimony on her deathbed of a 
happy life ending in a happy death. She said to your 
sorrowful father: '' My dear, do not let this worry you. 
Trust in the Lord and He will support you. I have 
trusted in Christ through all my life; now I trust in 

137 



Him and He comforts me, for the Lord doeth all things 
well. I am ready to meet Him. I am ready to die. 
Take care of our darling babe. God bless the little 
angel. It seems hard to us that we must part after living 
but a little while together, but it is God's will; it is well. 
Do not be sad; be happy. The ring you had made for 
me in Helena I will take with me. Call my loved ones 
to my side and let me kiss them and bid them good-bye. 
Tell the folks I die happy. Blessed be the Savior who 
died on the cross. Oh Lord! I am ready — take me, oh 
Lord! Take me at midnight or in the dawning of the 
morning. Dear Lord, take me. Let me go home in peace. 
The valley is lighter. I see the great white throne. I 
want to go home." She frequently said, '' I want to go 
home,'' or, '* Take me home," during her last hours on 
earth. Thus your dear mother passed away in peace, 
prepared to meet the God in whom she had placed her 
trust. I imagined hearing the soft wings of the angels 
fluttering in the room when they came to take her home, 
and their soft whisperings saying, ^' She is dying happy. 
She is clinging to the cross;" then a voice, '' Open the 
gates of heaven; she is coming home." Her remains are 
sheltered safe from sorrow in the cemetery at Great Falls. 
Dear is the spot where she sleeps. ''Though I walk 
through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no 
evil for thou art with me." Now, my dear little daughter, 
I am about to close this joy-mingled-with-grief letter, 
hoping that you and I will be loving companions to each 
other, to go and decorate your dear mother's grave for 
many decoration days to come. 

Remember dear mother's words, he/ Savior's cause extend — 
" Live pure and holy here as through life's way you wend " — 
And when the journey is over and you come to the valley 
May her words be your words, " Tell ths folks I die happy." 

138 



The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you. May 
He be your guide. Put your trust in Him. And that 
He will comfort you in life and in death is the prayer of 
your affectionate father, 

Robert Vaughn. 




139 









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